Penance
by EveyHammond
Summary: Everyone makes mistakes. But one from Sean's past is about to catch up with him.
1. Chapter 1

**Penance – Chapter One**

The cards in Albert's hands seemed to move effortlessly as the old grifter shuffled them. Although his were fingers gnarled and thickened by the considerable years that they'd been at work, each movement was as deft and precise as a surgeon's. The pack was well shuffled: now, with the same efficient movements, Albert dealt two cards each onto the table that lay between him and Sean. The younger man intently followed each move of the old con's hands with his eyes, a small frown of concentration pulling his brows together. Albert dealt the final card, set down the pack on the table, and relaxed back into his seat. He bestowed a benign smile upon Sean. "Away you go."

Sean frowned more deeply. He picked up the hand that had been dealt nearer to him and looked at the cards. "I bet… ten."

Without looking at his own hand, Albert responded. "Call." He picked up the pack again. "Here comes the flop." He burned the first card, discarding it, then dealt three cards face-up on the table between them: four of clubs, king of spades, four of hearts.

Sean gave the three cards a long look, then folded his arms. "Twenty."

Albert smiled, still not looking at his own two cards which remained face downwards. "Call." He picked up the deck again. "Let's burn and turn." He discarded one card, then dealt a fourth face-up onto the table: eight of spades. "Just two of a kind on the table."

"Forty."

"I hear the sound of confidence. I see your forty, and raise you…" Albert pursed his lips, laying one finger on his still unseen hand. "…forty more." At Sean's dubious look, Albert lifted his eyebrows. "Come on now, still only modest stakes."

Sean glanced at the two cards laying face-down under Albert's finger. "You're betting blind. You're just trying to bluff me."

"Only cost you another forty to find out," replied the older man equably. "Or if you don't want to take the risk, you can fold at any time…"

Sean grinned at this, and shook his head. "Call."

Albert gave an acknowledging nod, then took up the pack for the last time. "And down the river we go." He laid the final card face-up on the table: seven of spades.

Sean's chin lifted decisively. "Eighty."

"I see your eighty, and raise you another eighty." Albert sounded quite peaceable. Sean eyed him narrowly. "Okay. Call." He folded his arms.

Albert nodded at the younger man's hand. "It's showdown time."

Sean turned his cards over, obviously relishing the moment. King of hearts and king of diamonds. "Full house… Kings full of fours."

Albert nodded approvingly. "A very good hand." He let a small beat fall before adding, "But not quite good enough." He turned over his two hole cards: the ace and nine of spades. "Ace-high flush. My game, I believe."

"You what…" Sean stared at the hand disbelievingly, before falling back to sit limply in his chair, defeated. "Unbelievable!"

"Unbelievable that you still think you can beat Albert at poker, after all this time?" Mickey's comment issued from the other side of the room, where he sat at his laptop. "I'd say it was a classic case of someone failing to learn from history being doomed to repeat it."

"But he didn't even look at his hand!" protested Sean.

"Didn't need to," rejoined Albert, contentedly settling back in his chair.

"Because you were bluffing all the way through?" Sean's insistent query produced only a raised eyebrow from Albert and a chuckle from Mickey. "You were psyching me out and relying on me folding after the river!"

"An interesting strategy, but no, that wasn't the one I was following." Albert shook his head. Sean let out an exasperated breath. "Well, then you're not telling me you _knew_ what was in your hand without even looking at it - " Another distant chuckle from Mickey and a broadly spreading smile on Albert's face made Sean abandon the end of his sentence, letting out a groan. "You did, didn't you? You knew what your cards were all along!"

"Being the dealer does lend itself to certain advantages," remarked Albert equably.

Sean groaned again. "I don't bloody believe it. I was watching you all the time. How do you do it?"

"We always said to you, watching Albert play cards'll make you go blind," advised Ash, from where he sat on the sofa reading the paper. "And it'll stunt your growth."

"Stunt my wallet, more like." Sean sounded disgruntled.

"If you can't afford to pay, you shouldn't come out to play. Speaking of which…" Albert took a moment to calculate. "That's two hundred and seventy pounds sterling you owe me. No cheques accepted by the house."

"Ah, come on Albert – give me a break!" Sean tried his most crestfallen wet-behind-the-ears innocent look. "I'm tapped out this week. On the slate till next time?"

Albert smiled again, his old gambler's eyes flinty. "No debts between colleagues. You know the rules."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah…" Sean dug out his wallet and gloomily counted out the notes, handing them over to the older man. "Emma's going to go spare. I promised I'd take her out on the town tonight as a birthday treat."

Ash grunted from behind his paper. "Her birthday was a month ago."

"It was, but I was a bit short then, only just managed to scrape enough together for some flowers and a card."

"Last of the big spenders…" Ash commented caustically.

"Yeah, all right – but I did promise I'd take her out for a posh meal and a decent night's clubbing! And now Albert's cleaned me out it'll be more like a Happy Meal and a few drinks down at Eddie's bar."

Mickey raised his eyebrows. "You really know how to show a girl a good time."

"Let me know when you plan on telling her your plans for the evening," grunted Ash. "I could do with a laugh, and watching big sis demolish you after you let her down again sounds like it'll be good value."

"Thanks for the sympathy, guys!" Sean sat upright, hands clenching in growing discomfort. Ash snorted. "Just tell us where to send the wreath."

As Sean opened his mouth to protest again, Albert held up a silencing finger. "Before you disappear completely into weltering self-pity about your impending and, I have to say, not entirely unjustified suffering at the hands of your sister… Spare a thought for her feelings." Sean paused, his mouth a round 'O' of interrupted thought. Albert tapped him on the knee. "Emma doesn't get many opportunities to have the attention she deserves lavished upon her, nor to enjoy that attention in the surroundings befitting her loveliness. It's probably been a long time since she last had the chance to enjoy a fine meal in civilised company, without it being part of whatever con we were running at the time. As well as being able to relax afterwards at whatever decibel-ridden overpriced den of musical iniquity the young folk of this city are currently favouring."

"Not to mention, bumping into that old flame of hers in Birmingham put her through a bit of a rough patch," added Mickey quietly.

"Right. I know." Sean was immediately and very visibly contrite, displaying the genuine affection he had for his sister. "I remember how down she got over that bloke. That's another reason I wanted to take her out somewhere decent tonight: give her a proper birthday meal, then go clubbing so she could let her hair down and forget about all that."

"Your brotherly concern is admirable," remarked Albert.

"Except now I've just blown nearly all the dosh I was going to spend on her big night out!" exploded Sean, reverting to panic-stricken woe. "And you don't all have to rub in the fact that I'm a crap brother, because I already know that!"

"Leaving aside for the moment the relative merits of your siblinghood, there's another possibility you may be overlooking," said Albert. "Namely, that although you lapsed and did indeed gamble away the money you should have mindfully been keeping safe for Emma's birthday outing, such is my regard for your sister that I will, on this one occasion - " the stress placed on these words was very heavy " – _temporarily_ waive your debt and loan you back the money to enable your celebratory evening to proceed according to plan."

Sean stared blankly at the older man for a long moment. From behind his newspaper, Ash supplied a translation. "He's giving you back the two hundred and seventy quid."

"I'm loaning him it," corrected Albert distinctly, fixing Sean with a gimlet eye as he handed back the folded wad of cash. Sean did a double-take, then relief spread across his previously downcast features. "Oh. Oh!" He beamed at the older man. "Ah, cheers, Albert! You're a star!"

"Starry compliments aside, don't let it escape your notice that this is a debt merely postponed, not written off." Albert held up an admonitory finger. "I expect you to settle it in full before the end of the week."

"Absolutely! No problem!" Sean was already getting up and backing away, his features regaining their boyish charm as the dark clouds of difficulty were resolved. "I'll have it by Monday! Tuesday at the latest. Middle of the week at the outside."

"Mmm." Albert watched him retreat. "I have no doubt."

"Got to go, make sure everything's sorted for this evening…" Sean was all sunshine now, his face radiating the happy good looks that made him the team's charmer.

"Go. Give your sister a happy birthday." As the door shut behind the youngest member of the team, Albert let out a small sigh. "I must be going soft."

"Neither a borrower nor a lender be," remarked Ash from behind his paper.

"Setting a dangerous precedent, Albert," Mickey looked round from his laptop. "I don't think I've ever seen you write off a gambling debt before."

"I'm not going to make a habit of it. And just to set the record straight, the debt is not 'written off', it's temporarily postponed. I expect that money to be paid in full."

"Yeah, well…" Mickey started to close his laptop up, smiling. "I think you let him off easy."

"Sets a bad example." Ash folded his paper and tossed it onto the table. "Letting him get away with thinking you're a soft touch."

"I am not 'a soft touch', thank you very much." Albert's voice had taken on a note of irascibility. "At the risk of sounding repetitive, I'm not letting young Sean off from paying his debt. I am merely deferring it a few days."

"He won't see it that way." Ash shook his head. "Spun you a sob story and you bought it, hook, line and sinker. I'll bet that whole line about treating Emma to a birthday night out was just one of his tall tales."

"No, that part is true," said Mickey. "She mentioned to me this morning that Sean had promised her a mystery special night out. She was really pleased about it."

"Which is why I took the unusual and never-to-be-repeated step of _temporarily_ cutting our young reprobate some slack," added Albert. "I have no compunctions about fleecing him, especially as it's such a valuable learning experience, but I would hate to be the cause of ruining Emma's special evening."

"So he was actually on the level about that, then?" queried Ash.

"Absolutely." Mickey nodded. "In fact, he was picking my brains for ideas a couple of weeks ago… What restaurant did I think she'd like, what did I reckon to this club. And then he sorted out everything: dinner reservation, VIP tickets to the dance club afterwards, limo with a chauffeur hired for the evening. He's actually put quite a lot of effort into it."

"How touching," said Albert. "My frosty heart is mellowing a little towards the young scamp."

"You won't be saying that at the end of next week when you're still two hundred and seventy sovs down," rejoined Ash. Albert contented himself with an answering look.

-oooOOOooo-

The working day over, the trio decamped to Eddie's for a relaxing drink. They hadn't been there long when Emma and Sean appeared by the bar, both dressed up for an elegant night out. They got drinks and sauntered over to the three at the table.

Ash looked Sean up and down. "Bit overdressed for Eddie's, aren't you?"

Sean grinned. "Just dropping in. We're heading to Orlando's at eight."

"Who's Orlando?"

Mickey leaned over. "Top restaurant in the West End. Two Michelin stars."

"What, they do car repairs as well?"

Albert took Emma's hand. "You look lovely, my dear."

"Thank you." She smiled him, then at the whole table, spectacular in a shimmering dark blue dress. "I don't often get the chance to dress up for my own fun, rather than to impress some mark. And now I'm getting a whole evening of being spoiled rotten, thanks to my little brother." She put her arm around Sean's shoulders and gave him an affectionate hug and quick kiss on the cheek. "It's a brilliant surprise, I didn't know until today what he was up to!"

"The master of deception," murmured Albert, giving Sean a sidelong glance. The young con artist coloured slightly under his colleague's gaze, but recovered with speed by raising his glass. "I'd like to propose a toast… To my sister Emma, the most gorgeous girl in London!"

The team chimed in with the toast, clinking glasses together. Sean continued, "And I know it's a bit after your birthday, but it took me a little while to organise things. So happy birthday, sis: you deserve the best." He smiled at her, a little self-conscious.

"Indeed you do," seconded Albert, raising his glass in a half-salute. Mickey nodded in agreement. "I hope you have a wonderful evening. You've earned a break."

"I plan to enjoy every minute," said Emma.

"Just watch out what they serve you up in this posh eaterie you're going to," advised Ash. "They don't half pile the extras on the bill in those places."

"Not my problem," grinned Emma. "It's all Sean's treat… So I'm going to start off with a bottle of champagne and some caviar! I've always wanted to feel like the glamorous lady in a Bond movie, and now I get a chance to do it."

Mickey leaned in close to Sean, speaking in a low undertone. "You have got enough money to cover the bill, haven't you?"

"Got it covered." Sean spoke back between teeth set in a determined smile. "Next birthday she might have to settle for pizza and Pinot Grigio though."

Before long, the siblings finished their drinks and set out on their upmarket evening, leaving their friends to the dubious pleasures of drinks in Eddie's company. The talkative barman wandered over to their table after Emma and Sean had gone. "Blimey, they look proper nouveau rich. Off somewhere on a job?"

"No. Pleasure, not business." Mickey turned back from where he'd watched Emma leave. He was discomfited to find he was more than a little envious of Sean's role as escort. Pushing the feeling to the back of his mind, he took a sip of his drink. "Sort of a belated birthday treat. Dinner and a night on the town."

"Oh, very nice." Eddie looked a little wistful. "Always fancied doing that meself one day. You know, take a nice lady to the Ritz, do a spot of dancing afterwards."

"That's nice." Ash spoke with such flat insincerity that only someone as constitutionally dense as Eddie could miss it.

"Yeah." Eddie sighed. "Course, finding a nice lady who could afford to split the bill isn't that easy."

As one man, the trio of con artists looked at Eddie, then at each other. Ash was the first to break the silence. "So… Whose round is it, then?"

-oooOOOooo-

Dinner at Orlando's had been a definite success. Much to Sean's well-concealed relief, it had left him with enough money to leave a tip large enough to look classy, with plenty to spare for the over-priced drinks at the fashionable club Mickey had recommended. The clientele was young and happening, the DJ knew his stuff and before long Emma was dancing the night away with a fluctuating crowd of attentive young blokes whom Sean knew she would have no trouble keeping under control. His sister seldom failed to attract attention, but she was savvy enough to enjoy the compliments without letting men invade her space. Unless she wanted them to, of course.

It was something of a relief to be out socialising and not working a con. After the scathing dressing-down he'd received from the team after he'd gotten disastrously drunk during a set-up, Sean had religiously stuck to mixers and low-alcohol lager when on the job. Being the youngest member of the London Five often felt like a tough gig and he knew he had a lot to prove.

Despite the fact that he and his sister had been headhunted by Albert back in the days when the old grifter was finishing his short spell in prison, Sean knew he hadn't risen in the esteem of the other three as quickly or as high as Emma had. It wasn't to do with her looks, either, although Sean still suspected that Mickey was more attracted to Emma than his occasional glances betrayed. In the long cons they'd worked together, Emma had proved her worth to the team: more than that, she'd showed she had courage. Any successful con artist had to have the guts to pull off a scam, the ability to brass their way through a tricky situation as well as the quick wits to turn things around in the face of the unexpected. Emma was smart, she was gutsy, but above all she was loyal to the team, and that had won her a place in the affections of the three older men.

Sean, on the other hand, was burdened with inexperience and youth, two things that definitely didn't win him any brownie points. The main thing he had going for him was that he was a quick learner… And he was lucky enough to be learning from some of the best. Standing at the bar at the back of the club, Sean smiled ruefully into his empty glass. Despite having to put up with being lowest in the pecking order, he wouldn't have missed out on working with Mickey, Albert and Ash for any other gig in town. He was getting an education second to none, even if he sometimes had to pay for the privilege.

A hand squeezed his shoulder and he looked round into his sister's beaming face. "Hey, you!" she cried to make herself heard through the music. "Fancy a dance?"

"Yeah, sure!" He gestured at the bar. "Want another drink?"

"Dance first!" she insisted, taking him by the arm and leading him through the crush to the dance floor. As the DJ cranked up the volume Emma began to move with the music, her face alight with pleasure. Sean let the music carry him too, following her lead, riding the happiness she so obviously felt. _Well I may not be a top grifter yet, but at least I managed to be a decent brother for once. Not too shabby._

Ten dance tracks and one shirt starting to stick to his back later, Sean mimed 'knackered' at Emma and nodded towards the bar. They retreated through the crush of dancers and he propped one elbow on the counter, waving a folded twenty at the bar staff. "What do you want?"

"Bacardi and diet coke, lots of ice." Emma was smiling. "God, I'm having such a great time! I don't know when I last danced so much."

"Yeah, you look like you're enjoying it." He passed the drink to her and took a gulp of his lager. Emma laughed. "I'll pay for it tomorrow… But what the hell, I don't get to do this very often. It's a brilliant birthday treat."

"Glad to be of service," Sean replied.

"No, really." Emma put her hand on his arm. "I mean it. You've given me a fantastic night out. No-one's taken this much trouble to be so nice to me in a long time… And I really, really appreciate it." She leaned forward and wrapped him in a hug.

For a moment, brother and sister held each other in a close embrace. When they pulled apart, Sean felt a little overwhelmed by his sister's demonstrativeness, but inwardly a small glow of pride warmed him. "Well... I'm glad you're enjoying it. And I'll bet some of those blokes you've been dancing with tonight would be happy to give you a repeat experience."

"Well, I don't know about that. Most guys today seem to think treating a girl to an all-you-can-eat curry is a great night out. I can't see them wining and dining me at one of the most expensive restaurants in London!"

"Not too embarrassed to be seen out with your little brother, then?"

Emma laughed. "You scrub up all right." She tweaked his collar playfully. "Up for another dance yet?"

"God, no." Sean rolled his eyes. "I need at least fifteen minutes to recover. And, um, speaking of recovery… I need to visit, the, uh…"

"I'll watch your pint," she assured him. "But don't be long!"

Threading his way through the crowd, Sean found his way to the Gents. Typically for such a swanky club the toilets were high-tech and bathed in a medicinal blueish light that Sean imagined the club owners probably thought was stylish but which actually had the effect of making everyone look as though they needed a holiday somewhere sunny.

He was rinsing his hands when he felt the unmistakeable sense of being watched. Years of being a con artist had sharpened his senses, even when under the influence of three lagers, two bottles of wine and several glasses of champagne. Keeping his head downturned, he let his eyes flicker disinterestedly up into the mirror, as if checking out his reflection. Reflected in the mirror was a man standing beside the air hand dryer, his dark eyes directed at Sean. He was tall and wide-shouldered, wearing a well-cut casual suit: as he moved his hands in the drying air a gold ring caught the light and glinted briefly. His gaze met Sean's reflection: but rather than averting it or turning away, he continued to look steadily at him in the mirror.

Sean dropped his own eyes and stepped away from the sink. The man hadn't looked familiar, but it was never a good feeling being checked out. Making a living by conning people meant you had to blend into the background, and Sean worked hard at doing just that unless a job demanded him to play a character. He decided to take a calculated risk: turning abruptly, he stepped up to the air blower next to the one the stranger was using. Using a carefully neutral expression, he turned his head slightly and gave the man a casual, we're-just-blokes-who-happen-to-be-in-the-loos at-the-same-time nod. Closer up, he saw that the man had neatly-trimmed hair, a vaguely eastern European look. The man's eyes narrowed slightly: Sean had the uncomfortable sensation that his vaguely matey nod had somehow worsened the situation. _Maybe he thinks I'm trying to pick him up. Bloody hell._

Returning his gaze stiffly to the front, he hastily scrubbed his hands together in the clammy airstream, then beat a quick retreat back to the main room of the club. Emma was waiting for him at the bar. "About time! You were gone ages."

"Yeah." Sean grabbed his pint and had a swig to calm his nerves. Glancing back towards the toilets, he was discomfited to see the dark-eyed man standing at the edge of the room, looking at him through the crowd. He turned to face the bar, frowning down at his drink.

"You all right?" Emma nudged him.

"I'm fine." He smiled at her, trying to put out of his mind the feeling of having the creepy guy's gaze boring a hole between his shoulder blades. He didn't want to spoil his sister's party mood. "You off for another dance?"

"Too right." She put her empty glass down on the bar counter. "You coming?"

He shook his head. "Think I peaked too early. I'm good here."

"Lightweight!" she laughed. With a quick kiss on his cheek, she was gone back into the crush of the dance floor and swiftly lost from view.

Sean sipped his lager and took a surreptitious look at his watch. _3 am._ He looked at the wildly dancing masses in front of him and let out a small sigh. _Maybe I am a lightweight._ He was impressed by his sister's apparently unlimited energy, but he had long ago recognised that he didn't share it.

A man moved in to the bar next to him, close. Sean obligingly shifted up to let him get a space to attract the bar staff's attention, but the man reached out and gripped his arm, leaned in to speak close to his ear. "My boss would like to speak with you."

Sean mentally re-ran the words through his brain, wondering if lager and dance music had conspired to create what he thought he'd just heard. "What?"

"My boss. Over by the pillar there. He would like to speak with you." The man shifted slightly, nodding at a seating area further back from the dance floor. Sean saw the dark-eyed man from his encounter in the Gents sitting there. Uneasy, he looked back at the heavy-set man standing beside him. "Uh… I don't think I want to talk with your boss, if that's okay."

"No. Not okay."

"Look, mate, I don't want any trouble. I'm just here to have a good night out – and I was planning on leaving soon anyway - " Sean was quickly deciding a tactical retreat was in order. Whatever this was about, it didn't seem good.

"No. You come talk to my boss." The big man's left hand was still holding Sean's arm, but his other hand slid out from under the edge of his jacket, just below the level of the bar. Revealing a very business-like, very sharp-looking knife. "You come talk to him now."

The roar of music and laughter and shouting sweating dancing drinking Londoners blurred away into a distant background as Sean looked at the knife. He felt his heart pause; then begin to pound. _Thud. Thud. Thud._

The grip on his arm was quite strong now. He couldn't help staring at the knife: then, when he realised he was doing it, transferring his gaze wide-eyed to the man's face. "What – What's this about?"

"My boss would like to speak with you," repeated the man.

"Yeah. Yeah." Sean could feel his heart beating so hard it almost shook his voice. "I, uh, get that. But, you know, I really don't think I want to talk to him. I _really_ don't. And, uh. You. Flashing a knife at me. Is a bit fucking unnecessary. Besides which." He breathed in as slowly as he could, willing his heart to calm down. "You start anything with _that_ in here and the security will be all over you."

The man shook his head slightly. "Very busy in here. Security won't see anything, not quick enough to help you." He turned the hand holding the knife, making a movement that was small but so swift that it blurred. The point of the knife was suddenly resting against Sean's stomach, just pressing through his shirt. "I can move quickly."

Sean took a single, very shallow breath in. "Yeah. You really can." He swallowed.

"You come and talk with my boss now." The man nodded towards the rear of the club again. "He doesn't like being kept waiting."

"Mhm." Sean gave a half shake of his head. "You don't surprise me." He stepped away from the bar, conscious of the man moving close in behind him. As he moved past the people queuing for drinks, Sean gave one very quick sideways look towards the dance floor, checking to see if Emma was visible. She wasn't.

As they drew near the chairs by the pillar, the dark-eyed man sitting there gestured to an empty seat. Moving as deliberately slowly as someone does when they have a man with a knife watching them, Sean sat down. The man had chosen a darkish corner, screened from much of the club by the pillar behind them. The noise was slightly less here, and the man only had to lean forward a little to be heard when he spoke. "I thought I recognised you. Now I'm sure."

_Uh oh._ Sean elected to try to brass things out. "Well, I'm really sorry, but I don't know you. So this is obviously a case of mistaken identity."

The man smiled humourlessly. "No. You see, I never forget a face. Never. And I remember yours. The fact that you don't remember me, is, frankly, irritating… But given time, I think your memory will serve you better than it is right now." He pointed at Sean. "It's been nearly eight years and you've no doubt led a full and busy life since we last met, but it's an encounter I haven't forgotten, let me assure you."

_Eight years? _Sean's brain began frantically back-tracking to days he'd happily begun to let go of: less-than-sunny memories of times before working with the Five, when he and Emma scraped by working short cons together… And when he'd worked a few even dodgier deals solo, on the fringes of the down and dirty world of petty criminality. Learning tricks from the people he'd run into, how to make a profit without being too careful how you tidied up the loose ends afterwards. Before he'd started learning the real con artist's craft, of which one important credo is: _Don't pull cons on people who carry grudges and settle scores._

The man was still gazing at him. "I will give you a little help. New Cross, 2003. Cigarettes. A shipment coming in, a payment made in advance."

Sean felt the memories slide into place. The man watching him smiled. "Ah. I think I see the glimmer of recognition."

Sean looked at the dark-eyed man in front of him. "Uh… Jacob?"

The man actually laughed. "Hah, yes. Jacob. That is my first name, which I went by then. Now it is Jacob Rovin." The laughter vanished, replaced by a look of cold menace. "Mr Rovin to you. You swindled me out of five thousand pounds."

Sean remembered: remembered the elation of pulling off what had seemed like a huge take in those days of scrabbling for a living. He saw Jacob Rovin in his mind's eye, younger then but seeming older with a beard, less well-dressed, not the successful – businessman – he appeared to be now. He dragged himself back to the present with an effort. "Any point in me saying that I feel really, really bad about it?" He cast about for useful strategies. "Or that I can pay you back?"

Jacob smiled thinly, sitting back in his chair. "The money, you will definitely pay me back, yes. But it's not just a question of money." He steepled his fingers together. "You, small-time cheat, took from me more than money. You took from me respect. I lost the respect of the men I was dealing with. I was humiliated. The money, it took me some time to replace it. The respect, it took much longer. And I never forgot you. You, smiling, charming, oh-so-obliging local boy only too willing to help out a fellow 'trader'. Your smile I remembered. For a long time."

Sean heard the barely-restrained anger in the man's voice. _Fuck me. How is it I can con people out of half a million and they get royally pissed off, but I stick one Eastern European wannabe bad boy for five grand's worth of cigarettes and I make an enemy for life?_ Being very careful of how he spoke, he said, "So what you're saying is, you're angry with me. I understand that."

"Oh, I don't think you do understand, smiling boy. Not yet. But I am willing to bet you will understand. Given enough time."

"So… Uh." Sean swallowed. "What could I do to… uh… convince you that I do understand? And, uh… Make amends?" He was proud of the last phrase. He'd heard Mickey use it on more than one occasion. It was classy. And somehow, keeping things classy felt like the only way of stopping this nightmare situation teetering over into much worse things.

"You will come with me. Spend a little time in discussion." Jacob gestured towards the exit of the club. "Now."

Inadvertently, Sean's eyes flickered towards the bar. To his horror, he saw that Emma had taken a break from dancing and was standing there looking around, trying to spot her brother in the crush. Jacob saw his gaze shift and smiled. "Or maybe you'd like your lady friend to come too? She is someone special?" He half-raised a hand to signal to the big man standing behind the chairs.

A painful tension gripped Sean's chest. He had to catch his breath before speaking. "No." He forced himself to keep the panic out of his voice. "She's no-one special. Just some girl I picked up in here." He drew on every ounce of acting skill he'd learned from his time with the London Five. Faking sullen reluctance, he put a touch of whine into his voice. "I mean, she's bloody cost me enough, the drinks she's had me buy her all evening…"

Jacob regarded him with amusement. "Don't tell me the cheat has been cheated?" He gestured at the bar. "Better go and make your excuses, then. Make it quick." As Sean stood up, Jacob held him for a moment longer with his voice. "Don't try leaving without us. My friend here will be very close behind you. And I'm sure you wouldn't want your lady friend involved in any… unpleasantness."

Turning away, Sean began to walk to the bar. He sensed the step of Jacob's knife man a couple of paces behind him. As he drew close to the bar, Emma's roaming gaze found him and she grinned and waved. Managing to grin back, he walked the last few steps to the bar, feeling his heart hammering behind his ribs again. _Fucking hell. Got to do this right. Got to get her out of here, before they realise she's my sister. Got to get her away from that no-neck with the knife._

"Hey, where've you been?" Emma took a gulp from a glass, and shook her finger at him reprovingly. "I had to buy my own drink."

"Sorry, gorgeous," Sean replied. He turned sideways on at the bar, interspersing himself between his sister and the knife-carrying man at his back. "Listen, you feel like heading off now?"

"You really are a lightweight," she grinned at him. "I could dance all night!"

"Too much lager," he smiled in return. "Feeling a bit… You know."

"Oh, poor you." She chucked him under the chin. "Can't hold your drink!"

"Yeah, don't I know it." _Please, sis. Do what I tell you, just this once._ "Seriously though – you OK to get out of here now?"

She groaned. "Party pooper. But come to think of it, you do look a bit out of sorts."

"Huh. Yeah." He managed a wan look, keeping his hand flat against the bar top to stop it from shaking. "I'll be better for some fresh air, I reckon."

"Okay…" She downed the rest of her drink. "Let's make a move, then. We can always pick up a bottle on the way."

"Yeah. Sure, we can do that." _Thank fuck._ "The limo'll be waiting just outside." They were starting to move to the exit. _Get her into the limo, then make some excuse. Get her away._

"I'll get my coat." Emma dove off towards the cloakroom.

The knife man spoke behind Sean. "You don't try to leave with her."

"I'm just gonna see her to the car. I'm not going anywhere," Sean retorted stiffly, eyes on where Emma had disappeared. She came back into view quickly, shrugging on her coat.

The hired limo was parked a few yards away from the club entrance, close to the kerb. Conscious of the knife man still dogging his footsteps a few paces behind, Sean walked Emma to the limo and opened the door. Once she'd got in, he deliberately stepped back. Putting his hand to his jacket, then to his forehead, he pulled a face. "Bloody hell, I'm more trollied than I thought. I've only gone and left my wallet in there."

"You twit," she reprimanded him. "Go and get it!"

He shook his head. "I think I put it down on the bar. Hopefully some light-fingered club-monkey hasn't walked off with it." He made a self-deprecating gesture. "Look, no reason for you to hang about out here in the cold waiting for me to sort this out. The limo's already paid for – you head off, I'll follow on in a cab when I've found my wallet."

"What? Hang on – what if some light-fingered so-and-so has walked off with it? How will you pay for a cab?"

"I'll ring you when I get there and you can pay him." He managed to smile at her, desperately willing her to comply. _For chrissake, just go._ "You didn't think you were getting a completely free evening, did you?"

"You muppet." She shook her head, half-angry, half-laughing. "Look, I'll just wait - "

"No, there's no point. I'll be right behind you." _Please, for fuck's sake get out of here, sis. _He smiled again, feeling the sweat cold on his back, and pushed the door shut. He bent down to the driver's window. "Take the lady home." The driver nodded and started the car. Stepping away from the limo, Sean gave a still somewhat-puzzled Emma a cheery wave, then retreated back across the pavement. The car pulled away and his sister was gone. Sean let out a breath.

The voice of the man with the knife sounded close behind him. "You come with my boss now." Sean looked around: the man gestured at another car parked some way down the road. Sean's stomach tightened. "Come where?"

"Not your problem." The man gestured again. "You come now."

Sean looked at the club entrance: at the departing people, the disinterested security. Trying to make a run for it was a no-brainer: with all that lager and a heavy meal sloshing around inside him, he'd probably make about ten yards before this hired muscle caught up with him. And there was that knife to think about.

Sean felt sick. _Don't think about it. Just put one foot in front of the other and do what you're told, buy yourself some time to work out how to get out of this. You got Emma away, safe and sound, so that's a result._

They had reached the car, an expensive top-of-the-range Mercedes with dark-tinted windows. The back door opened. "You get in," said knife man. Sean did as he was told. The man got in beside him, causing Sean to scoot along on the back seat. The door shut and the car began to move. Jacob Rovin was sitting in the front passenger seat. "Don't forget your seat belt, smiler."

Sean fumbled with the belt, slightly reassured by this apparent concern for his well-being. "So, uh… Where are we - ?"

The punch to his head from the man sitting beside him was as unexpected as it was violent. Sean slammed sideways against the car window, then slumped loosely against his seat belt, unconscious. From the front seat, Jacob spoke. "Good. I hate a back-seat driver."


	2. Chapter 2

**Penance – Chapter Two**

Arriving back at the penthouse, Emma kicked off her shoes and hung her coat up. Walking through into the kitchen, she switched on the light, ran some water into the kettle and flicked its on-switch, then sat down at the kitchen counter. Taking out her mobile phone, she brought up Sean's number, then texted: BACK NOW. KETTLE ON. COFFEE? She sent the text, laid the phone down and sat watching the kettle.

Half an hour and two cups of green tea later, Emma had had enough of perching on the kitchen stool. Taking her third cup of green tea with her, she went through to the lounge and flopped onto the sofa. Picking her mobile up again, she sent another text: BETTER GET HERE SOON. I'M NOT SITTING UP TILL DAWN WAITING FOR YOU. Tossing the phone down onto the table, she settled back against the sofa cushions and sipped at her tea.

-oooOOOooo-

Morning broke but the champagne and wine from the night before was stronger stuff than mere daylight. Emma slept soundly, despite still being dressed and having only a throw pulled over her. It was almost ten o'clock when the noise of a phone ringing dragged her out of a muggy haze of dreams. She stirred, let out a muffled groan, and unsteadily pushed herself upright. The phone rang again and she flinched, putting one hand to her head. Then she gingerly reached for her mobile and picked it up: it took her several seconds of fruitlessly trying to receive the call to realise that the sound was, in fact coming from behind her. She turned, wincing again as daylight from the windows assaulted her eyes. Across the room Mickey sat with his phone to his ear, obviously answering the call she'd heard ringing in. He acknowledged her awakening with a smile, whilst speaking into his phone.

Emma looked back at the windows, trying to gauge the time by daylight. The movement of her head produced unpleasant sensations and she shut her eyes and waited for a couple of moments for them to die down.

Mickey finished taking his call and clicked his phone off. "Hey. Good morning."

"Mhm… Is it?"

"Well. I'm guessing by that scintillating greeting that I woke you up. Sorry about that."

"Mmuh." Emma peered into the half-empty mug of green tea that stood on the table and pulled a face.

"And a very good morning to you, too. Feeling a little fragile, are we?"

"Mickey, can you please talk a little bit quieter so the top of my head doesn't come off." Clutching her temple, Emma got to her feet and walked unsteadily into the kitchen, where she sought paracetamol and a big glass of water with quiet desperation.

"Had a good night, then?" Emma could hear the grin in Mickey's voice as she returned to the lounge.

"Yes, I did. And the two bottles of champagne and… other things… that I drank are in absolutely no way now having their evil revenge on me." Emma sat down at the table, bending her head forward until it rested on the cool surface. "Ohh god… What use are hangovers. Make it go away."

"What you need is some nice freshly-squeezed orange juice, a pot of strong black coffee, and a big plate of warm buttery croissants with lots of jam," said Mickey. "Get your blood sugar up again."

"Mickey, please!" Emma pleaded. "Have some mercy. I'm suffering."

"In direct proportion to however much you were enjoying yourself last night, no doubt. It'll pass in a few hours."

"A few hours…" groaned Emma. "Oh my god…"

"Not like you to play the drama queen," Mickey said unsympathetically. "Besides, I'll bet however bad you feel, Sean is feeling quite a lot worse, given the amount I've seen him drink on occasion."

Emma sat up and peered around cursorily. "Well, he's not even up yet. So he's not here to share my pain."

"Go and wake him up then." Mickey was evidently enjoying this conversation. "Why should you be the only one suffering?"

"Mickey, you're a bad, bad man." Emma stood up. "I'll go and wake him up now."

"Good luck," Mickey said. "Enjoy your schadenfreude."

"I will, whatever that is." Emma paused before leaving the room. "By the way, was there any particular reason you woke me up, other than to mock me in my time of suffering?"

Mickey had stood up too, picking up his phone and keys from the table. "Just to say we're getting together after lunch at Eddie's, to do some brainstorming. I'm heading over there now, but there's no hurry. We could use some input from the two of you. And by the sound of you, a little bit of hair of the dog probably won't go amiss."

"Don't even mention the word alcohol," Emma warned him. "I will never, never, never drink champagne again. I'm getting that tattooed on me just in case I forget. Better still, I'll get it tattooed on Sean, somewhere prominent."

"There's gratitude, after he took you out on your birthday treat," laughed Mickey.

"I'm grateful! But the lazy bugger's still snoring in bed, instead of mopping my fevered brow and bringing me alka-seltzer."

"Go get him, tiger," advised Mickey, bestowing an encouraging smile on her before leaving.

Emma left the lounge and headed down the passage to Sean's bedroom. She paused to knock on the door; then reconsidered and shoved it open, announcing loudly, "All right, you skiver, get up and make me some breakfast - "

Her announcement fell on deaf ears. Or rather, on no ears at all. Sean's bed was empty, the curtains at the window open. Emma frowned at the unslept-in bed, then shook her head. Cautiously she padded back out into the passage, then stopped at the doorway to her own room. "Oh god no, please tell me you didn't fall asleep in the wrong room last night, Sean. Especially if you were feeling dodgy when you rolled in…" She opened the door to her own room, but was instantly relieved to find the bed there untouched too.

The relief speedily turned to puzzlement. "OK… Then where _did_ you sleep?" she pondered aloud, walking through the penthouse. A peep in the bathroom revealed no younger brother snoring in the bathtub; an examination of the area by the door showed a distinct lack of Sean-related articles such as discarded shoes, jacket, keys or general drunk-man clutter.

Slowly Emma drifted back to the kitchen and sat down on the stool again. She frowned. "And he's how old and I'm still babysitting him?" she said aloud. Picking up her mobile, she firmly wrote another text. OK YOU DIRTY STOP-OUT. NO FUNNY NOT COMING BACK. GOING 2 MEET OTHERS USUAL PLACE. YOU'D BEST TURN UP WITH BIG FLOWERS AND EXPLANATION PLUS YOU OWE ME BREAKFAST. She hesitated; added XX ; sent the message, then headed off for a shower.

-oooOOOooo-

There was a general chorus of slightly mocking cheering when Emma descended into the bar, mainly coming from Ash and Mickey but even Albert was wearing a slightly sly smile. She shot them all a dirty look and eased herself into a seat at the table. "All right, all right. Get it out of your system."

"Drink, madam?" asked Mickey in his most winning voice. Emma smiled snarkily at him.

"Har. Har. Yes, I'd like a large orange juice with plenty of ice and absolutely nothing alcoholic even wafted within eyeshot of me, please."

"Oh, those grapes sound sour," chuckled Albert. Emma fixed him with a look, and he mockingly toasted her with the glass of scotch he was holding. "Methinks the lady had a good evening last night… Even if she can't entirely remember it today!"

"I can remember it," Emma contradicted him, taking the frosty cold glass of orange juice Mickey handed her with a look of gratitude. "I can remember every minute. Especially eating possibly the best meal I've had in my life, then dancing the night away with some blokes who were nicely easy on the eye. I wined, I dined, I danced." She gestured grandly. "Fun was had."

"Well, I'm glad to hear it," said Mickey, smiling genuinely at her now. "Really." Emma smiled back at him.

"And presumably even more fun was had by your less-easy-on-the-eye brother, because he's so hung-over he can't even make it out of bed," commented Ash drily.

Emma shook her head. "Didn't even make it into bed," she replied. The three men paused, each evidently picturing a scene which left them temporarily lost for comment. Mickey was the first to break the silence. "Er… Sean was so drunk you had to leave him sleeping in the limo?… is where I hope this story's going."

"Nope." Emma took another swig of her orange juice. "My charming little brother didn't even make it back last night. I was just getting in the limo when he said he'd left his wallet behind, told me to head back and that he'd follow on in a cab… So I stayed up half the night waiting for him," she continued with slightly self-righteous exaggeration, "and he never showed up. I only realised when I looked in his room this morning and he wasn't there."

The three men met each other's eyes, exchanging somewhat amused looks. Emma clocked them and frowned. "Look, it's not funny."

"Well… It is, a bit." Mickey tried hard to smother his grin. Ash and Albert had no such inhibitions. "The randy little sod!" Ash exploded gleefully. At Emma's frosty look, he shrugged, still grinning. "Well, it's obvious, innit. He'd pulled some bird at the club you went to, knew his luck was in, didn't want you around. Stuck you in the car home, then got stuck in where he'd left off. So to speak."

Emma was almost speechless. "You – what - " She dropped her mobile phone onto the table. "So that's why he's not answering my bloody messages. I've been texting him all morning!"

"Oh, he must have pulled a good 'un," said Ash with relish. "She's keeping him busy in the morning as well as last night. Lucky boy."

"Oh, please." Emma swished her orange juice briskly around in its glass. "I really don't want to hear all your grubby men-thoughts about what my grubby little brother may or may not have been doing last night - "

" – And this morning," Ash added.

" – _And_ this morning, thank you very much." Emma downed the last of her orange juice. "And the only reason I trekked over here at all was because Mickey said we were going to do some work. So are we going to work, or would you like to fantasize some more about what my brother's been up to?"

-oooOOOooo-

Sean woke with a headache that dwarfed any hangover he'd ever had before. It dominated his returning consciousness so massively that it was a while before he realised he'd somehow managed to fall asleep on the floor instead of making it to bed. Wincing at the ache in his back, he gingerly opened his eyes and squinted out at the light of day.

Which revealed something disconcertingly unfamiliar. As in, not his bedroom. His eyes opened wider and he stared at a bare white wall. _Oh blimey,_ was his first fuzzy thought, _Don't tell me I passed out in the Gents. That is seriously embarrassing._

He brought his arms under him and used them to sit up. The movement brought a stabbing pain to his head and he lifted one hand to his face. His fingers touched a tender area on his cheek and a fresh twinge ran down to his jaw, making him flinch. For a long moment he sat completely still, fingers resting on his face.

A sudden memory loomed out of the grey vagueness of his brain. The back seat of an expensive car. A fist, coming from one side, hitting him hard. Very hard.

"Oh _fuck_." Sean shut his eyes tight for a moment, then opened them and stared ahead. At the featureless white wall. He turned his head, wincing again at the stiffness in his neck, and saw another white wall. With a door set into it. And no handle on his side.

"Oh, fuck!" Sean groaned. He looked down at himself, his hand automatically reaching for his pocket, for his mobile phone. It wasn't there. Largely because neither was his jacket. He was sitting slumped on the cold, uncarpeted floor, no jacket, no phone, and, humiliatingly, no belt or shoes. Sean regarded his sock-clad feet with a degree of hopelessness. "Fuck!" Swearing was unlikely to improve his situation, but he felt something expletive was fairly justified, maybe even called for.

_Right, Sean. So the last thing you remember is a big fist, and now you're sitting fuck knows where with not enough clothes to get you into a respectable nightclub. This is not good._ He found his hands were shaking. His body was catching up with the turn of events: adrenalin started to flood him, threatening to send his thoughts skittering off into panic mode. _OK. Right. Don't lose the plot. That won't help. That seriously won't help. Just go through things, one at a time. Consider each problem in turn, like Albert always says._

His hands were still shaking. He decided to pretend to ignore them. _So. Big fist, knocked out, probably out cold for a while. But okay now. So that's progress. Driven here - wherever here is, come back to that one - by a bloke I conned years ago who seems pretty pissed off and really not into the whole forgive-and-forget thing. And who employs big men. With big fists. And sharp knives._ He was sweating now. _OK, not helping at all, this considering stuff._ He clenched his hands into fists and pressed them against each other, willing the shakes to stop. _This is all a bit surreal. I should be waking up from this not-so-funny dream any moment now, with a big fat hangover, and Emms leaning over me with a nice big mug of black of coffee, telling me to shift my lazy arse out of bed –_

He breathed in sharply, as a moment of pure terror gripped him. For a horrible few seconds he had a complete blank about what had happened to his sister. _Fucking hell did they take her was she in the car I can't remember –_

_The car. The limo, you idiot. Remember the limo?_

Her voice came back to him, laughing in the streetlit darkness. _– You muppet!_ The slam of a car door. His own voice, echoing in his head. _– I'll be right behind you. Take the lady home._ Red tail-lights, pulling away.

He let out the breath he'd been holding, blowing out unsteadily through pursed lips. _She's all right. I got her out of there. She's safe._ He found himself smiling idiotically at his clenched hands. They weren't shaking as much.

After a few minutes, Sean felt a little better. _Right. So I'm banged up somewhere in my socks and – _he mentally checked _– with a hangover. And this Rovin bloke has got a serious chip on his shoulder about me making him look a bit of a plonker in front of his bad boy mates eight years ago. But on the plus side… _His train of thought stalled a little but he refused to let it derail, frowning at the door in the wall. _Okay. On the plus side, I'm a con artist. I make my living using my wits. And Rovin can't be the sharpest tool in the box, or I wouldn't have got the better of him back then. So all I've got to do is figure out a way of convincing him that I'm really really sorry for what I did back then, and that I can make it up to him, probably in the form of big heaps of dosh, in the here and now. Piece of cake._

Sean blew out, refusing to let himself slide back towards the panic he'd felt a few minutes earlier. He was having something of an epiphany about the people he worked with. Although he'd known from very early on that Albert, Mickey and Ash were good at their game, it wasn't until now that he really saw the unique strength of the team. Each person was the best – at their role. Mickey the brains, the leader, the one who pulled them all together. Albert the roper, the years of experience giving him a superhuman insight into not only the minutiae of every con going but the tiny turnings of human behaviour. Ash the fixer, the do-er, the multi-talented tackler of all things impossible, capable of keeping things going on a wing and a prayer.

_But they're not here. So this is one game I'm going to have to work through on my own._ Sean's jaw set, his eyes fixed on the door from under lowered brows. _First; get the lay of the land. _He got to his feet, trying to ignore the headache from hangover and fist-related activities. Three steps took him to the door: he put one hand on it and shoved experimentally. It remained solidly shut, not even creaking in its frame. For thoroughness's sake he ran his hand over its surface, feeling for any trace of a flaw or sign that there might once have been a handle or lock on this side. His fingers met only smooth, painted wood. He continued to feel his way around the door's frame, where it was set into the wall. Nothing.

Pursing his lips, he stepped back and let his eyes scan the wall around the door. Featureless off-white painted plaster, a little chipped in places. Turning on the spot he looked up at the room's ceiling: a single round fluorescent light with a frosted shade, no light switch – he glanced back to check – in the room.

_So far, so nothing._ Sean moved away from the door and walked around the room's perimeter, scanning each wall in turn. After he'd made three circuits he stopped and regarded the floor. Scuffed light grey tiling, slightly grubby in the room's corners. He knelt down and tested the floor, knocking carefully on it with his knuckles. No hollow sound, which could either mean he was on the ground floor or an upper level with cement flooring. Standing up again he moved back to the door and tried pressing his hear against it, straining to hear any sounds that might give him a clue to where he was. Distant traffic. Human voices. Machinery. Anything.

The door remained provokingly silent. Sean turned around and regarded the featureless, off-white, three-metre by three-metre space he was stuck in and let out an exasperated sigh. _In films they always bloody have something. A nice handy air vent, or a nail file for picking the door lock with. And I get stuck with what looks like, basically, a large storage cupboard with eff all in it._ He wandered disconsolately across the room to the wall opposite, turned around so he was facing the door and slowly let himself down into a sitting position. _Right. That took all of ten minutes. So that leaves me with, well, probably quite a lot of time to come up with a brilliant plan._

He drew up his knees, then rested his folded arms across them. His face took on a less than confident aspect. _Brilliant plan. Right. Best get cracking on that, then._


	3. Chapter 3

**Penance – Chapter Three**

Emma checked her mobile Inbox. No messages. She scowled at it, and slid the phone back into her pocket.

"Still no word from the prodigal brother?" Mickey spoke close beside her. Emma glanced back at him, pulling her jacket closed. "No."

"Well, maybe he'll be at the penthouse when you get back there."

"He better be. 'Cos if he's planning on staying out another night without telling me, he can take his stuff and bed down permanently with whatever piece of fluff he's picked up." Emma slammed her empty glass down on the bar and gave a nod towards the two older men still sitting at the table. "Bye, Albert, Ash. See you later."

Mickey followed her as she headed towards the stairs. "Come on. You don't mean that." She turned and fixed him with a look: he held up one hand, slightly defensively. "Okay. Maybe you do mean that. I can see you're annoyed…"

Emma glanced back into the bar, to where Albert and Ash were finishing off their drinks, chatting with Eddie. Returning her gaze to Mickey, she dropped her voice slightly. "Of course I'm bloody annoyed, Mickey. I mean, I know it's all a joke to you guys. Oh, Sean's pulled a bird and got his leg over, way-hey, good for him." Her tone was derisive. "Big laugh, lots of double entendres all round. But you know what? Not so funny if you're a woman listening to that sort of crap."

"Don't take it personally," Mickey said soothingly. "You know what Ash is like. You know he doesn't mean it about you."

"Oh, great! Just about the other thirty million women in this country. Fantastic. Chivalry isn't dead, after all."

Mickey frowned, catching the real anger in her mood. "This isn't just about Ash using a few smutty one-liners." Emma met his eye. "Is it?"

Emma looked away, up the stairs… then back at him. "No. It's not." She took a deep breath. "You know, Mickey, I was having a brilliant time last night. For once, my brother got his act together and managed to do something that was really thoughtful and generous. I was looking at him last night all dressed up, and I was really proud of him. Not just because he was doing it for me, but because he wasn't doing it for himself. I thought, he's really grown up in the last eighteen months." Mickey waited for her to go on, his face sober. "And then he goes and blows it by pulling a disappearing act, doesn't even bother to let me know what he's up to. Well, great." She shrugged. "Looks like I'm back to being bossy big sis, the one who always tells him off. Better not let me know what he's doing 'cos I'll only spoil his fun." She shook her head. "He ruined it, Mickey. It was a lovely birthday treat, and now it feels like he was just going through the motions to look good."

"I'm sorry that's how this has made you feel," said Mickey. "But like I said, maybe he will be waiting for you when you get back. With an apology."

"Yeah, well – it'd have to be an Oscar-winning performance, the way I'm feeling right now." Emma stopped, shaking her head. "Oh – sod it. Sorry. I'm ranting at you and it's not your problem."

"That's okay. You need to blow off some steam." Mickey smiled at her.

"Mhm." She smiled wryly back at him. "I'm going to go."

"We'll see you later. And Sean too."

"Yeah. If I have to drag him out of some floozy's bed. He wants big bad sis, that's just what he's going to get." She set her chin determinedly and marched up the stairs.

-oooOOOooo-

The penthouse was quiet when Emma let herself in. She closed the apartment door behind herself, then switched on the light. Her glance around showed her no sign that her brother had returned, but she called out anyway. "Sean?"

Silence met her. Sighing, she hung up her jacket and headed to the kitchen: made herself coffee and a salad and took it into the lounge to eat in front of the television.

A couple of hours passed while she sat in front of the screen, mindlessly watching whatever came on without really following it. Twice she reached for her mobile, made as if to text, then frowned and tossed it down on the table again.

As the afternoon stretched on, she felt her eyes closing. Last night's partying was catching up with her and her body needed sleep, in her bed this time. She glanced at her phone, then shook her head. _Sod Sean._ _Two can play at this incommunicado lark._ Firmly, she switched the phone off and left it on the table, along with a note that read simply: GONE TO BED. ANYONE WHO WAKES ME BEFORE TOMORROW MORNING WILL REGRET IT. Then she headed off to her room.

-oooOOOooo-

Emma had set her alarm for her usual weekday rising time of seven a.m. Its shrill bleeping dragged her from a restless night's sleep, sending her hand flailing out to hit the snooze button. She groaned, then rolled over and swung her legs out of the bed. Pulling on her dressing gown, she made for the bathroom. On the way she detoured to check out her brother's room door. It was still open, the bed still unslept-in. The anger she'd felt yesterday kicked in, but with an edge of something else. Frowning, Emma went into the bathroom and started the day with a shower, hoping it would wash away the lurking remnants of her bad night.

Over breakfast she checked her phone again: tried ringing Sean's mobile one more time. It rang out to the message service, so she hung up. Thinking for a moment, she got her purse and delved through it until she found what she was looking for: a promotional card from the nightclub, which she'd been given on entry. Checking the number on the card, she dialled. Mercifully, an actual human being answered after the tenth ring. "Hello?" The voice was female and with a strong Aussie twang: _Bar staff_, thought Emma.

"Hi, yeah; I came to the club the night before last, with my brother. I just wondered if anyone had found a wallet that night, maybe left on the bar? He thought he'd lost it, perhaps put it down there and forgotten to pick it up again…"

"A wallet? Don't think so. Hang on, I'll just see if any of the fellas remember one being handed in." There was the muffle of a hand being put over the other phone, and a slightly muted shout. "Hey, guys? Anyone remember a wallet turning up Saturday night? Girl on the phone here reckons her brother lost his while he was here with her." There was an indefinite sound of negative replies, then the Aussie woman came back on the line. "Sorry, miss. No-one handed in a wallet here. You sure your brother didn't lose it outside, or in a taxi maybe?"

"Yeah. He must have done." Emma felt a curious sinking feeling settling in the pit of her stomach.

"Right-oh. Hope he finds it."

"Yeah. Thanks." Emma hung up. She sat for a long minute staring at the phone. The sinking feeling was being joined by something else, something she didn't want to acknowledge. Anxiety.

Abruptly she got up and walked from the kitchen into the lounge, moving to stand by the window looking out. She glanced down at her phone still in her hand, checking the time. 8.05a.m. Slowly she scrolled through her phone screens, looking at her call logs. She had made six calls to Sean's mobile, and sent eleven texts. None of them had been answered.

The penthouse felt empty around her. Emma turned away from the window and slowly sat down on the sofa, holding her mobile in her lap and staring at it.

A footfall behind her made her turn. "Morning." Mickey was coming into the room, carrying his laptop. He smiled at her. "Catch up on your sleep?"

Emma looked up at him, frowning slightly. Mickey raised his eyebrows, nodding sagely. "O-kay. Too early in the morning for chit-chat. I'll give you some space till you've had your morning caffeine - "

"Mickey." Emma spoke quickly, suddenly unsure of what she was doing. "Are you – busy, right now?"

"Uh… No. Not at the moment. What's up?"

"Look, this might sound a bit drama queen, but – could you just sit down a sec and - talk with me?"

"Sure." His voice took on a note of concern. "Is something wrong?"

"Probably not, I'm probably just being silly, it's probably nothing - " She hesitated, then carried on. "It's just – Sean still isn't back. And I'm – feeling a bit weirded out about it."

"Okay." His voice was absolutely non-judgemental. "Let me just grab a coffee, and I'll be with you."

"Okay." Emma took a deep breath. "Mickey – thanks."

"Not a problem." His voice was reassuring. "I'll get you a coffee too."

"No, wait – I'll sort it." Emma sprang up from where she was sitting on the sofa, and marched towards the kitchen.

Mickey watched her go, somewhat surprised by her behaviour. The news that Sean was still off the radar was curious enough, but the vulnerability that Emma had just revealed was an added item. It pleased Mickey that she trusted him enough to ask for support, but the very fact that she'd asked him showed how rattled she must be. He made sure he was smiling when she returned from the kitchen with two steaming mugs of coffee.

Emma set the the mugs down on the table, pulled out a chair and sat down, looking pensive. Mickey took a seat himself, watching her place her mobile on the polished tabletop, giving her time to settle. When she finally let her hand rest on the table, he took a sip of coffee and looked at her. "So. You're worried about Sean still not showing up."

Emma stared down at her mobile. She tapped it with one finger, then drew her hand away. "I've tried ringing him and there's no reply, just his answering service. I've left messages and he hasn't got back to me. I've texted him a dozen times and still nothing."

"So…" Mickey watched her carefully.

"So." Emma paused. "Either he's getting my messages and he's not bothering to get back to me to let me know that he's shagging his brains out with some love goddess…" She stopped. Mickey gave her a minute, then prompted carefully, "Or?…"

"Or – I don't know." Emma folded her arms, looking away. "That's just it, Mickey. I don't know. I don't have a bloody clue. Yesterday I was just angry because I thought he was being slack, but today – I don't know. I don't know and I don't like not knowing."

"Well, I can understand you feeling like that," said Mickey. "It's not a nice position for you to be in."

"I hate it." Emma was still looking away, her face tense. "I thought I'd never have to put up with this again. I thought we'd left all this sort of – crap behind us. Me not knowing where he is, who he's with, what kind of stuff he's getting into - " She broke off and shook her head, then met Mickey's steady gaze. Trying to smile, she said, "Sorry. Drama queen moment again." Mickey said nothing, but gave her a small answering smile. "I hated it. Always having to be the big sister, the reliable one, keeping him in line."

"It must have been tough after your mother died," said Mickey. "A lot of responsibility for you."

"It wasn't a picnic for either of us." Emma looked down at the counter. "Sean was really hit hard when our dad cleared out. Then when our mum died and we got put into care… I looked out for him the best I could, but I was only a kid myself. In and out of different foster homes, never settling anywhere for longer than six months at a time…" She gave a half-shake of her head.

"When we were old enough we did a runner, but - it was out of the frying pan and into the fire. We got by, but it wasn't easy. Living on the streets, mixing with all kinds of characters. But we got through somehow. After a few years we even got used to it. But when Sean turned fourteen, he just… went off the rails. He started hanging with a right dodgy crew, older guys, into all kinds of stuff. And I didn't have a clue what to do about it. Because I was the older one, it was my job to look after him. That's what I thought, anyway. He didn't agree. And I didn't do much of a job."

"I think you underestimate yourself," said Mickey quietly.

Emma smiled. "You don't know all the mistakes I made."

"Everybody makes mistakes. That's how we learn."

"Yeah." Emma half-smiled. "Anyway… It was a rotten few years for both of us. Me making mistakes and learning from them, Sean acting up and running around with guys who were on a fast-track to being put away – or put down. We scraped through, somehow, came out the other side. But I hated every minute of it. I remember at one point hating him. My own brother. It got to the point where I never knew where he was, and part of me was glad about that because I just didn't want to have to worry about him any more. I didn't want to have to keep on caring about him, when all I got from him was attitude."

There was a long silence. Mickey broke it. "Families are complicated things. They're meant to be the people we're closest to, the people we love, but it's not always as easy as that."

"No." Emma looked up at him. "But sometimes they're all we've got. For a while, that was all Sean and I had. Each other. It wasn't enough, but we got through somehow. We got through to a better place. And the last year or so, working with you and Ash and Albert…" She smiled at Mickey. "We hit it lucky, finding a place with you guys. It's been a good time. And because I know what bad times feel like, I appreciate the good stuff." Mickey acknowledged this with a smile of his own. "Which is why, though I didn't mean to go off on a tangent about past history, this situation is really pressing my buttons." She gestured at her phone. "Sean doing a disappearing act on me. It's a blast from the past, and I don't want to have to deal with it. Not any more."

Mickey sat back, raising his brows briefly. "Well, I can understand you feeling angry with him. And worried about his whereabouts. But there could be a simple explanation for him not getting in touch with you." At her sidelong look, he shrugged. "You said he'd left his wallet behind in the club, when he put you in the limo to come back home on your own. Maybe he'd left his phone in the club, too."

"So whoever he's shacked up with, doesn't have a phone? Or he couldn't drag himself to a callbox?" Emma shook her head. "And I rang the club this morning. No-one had found a wallet there."

"Okay, so you're thinking maybe the wallet thing _was_ just an excuse to get you to go home without him," said Mickey.

"So he could go off with some girl he'd met there. Yeah. Except, contrary to what Ash and ninety percent of male humanity seem to think, I don't have a problem with my brother copping off with someone. Unlike Sean, I don't get possessed by the demon of protectiveness where his affairs of the heart – or of any other part of his anatomy – are concerned. If he pairs up with someone who rings his bell and makes him happy, I am happy for him. And he _knows_ that." Emma looked at Mickey. "That's what this is about, Mickey. Sean's not a fourteen year-old wide boy any more, and I'm not his nagging big sister. We're all grown up. We talk about stuff. When we ran into our dad last year, it shook Sean up big time. I saw the change in him. And we talked, about our dad and about lots of other stuff. He's still a bit of lad when it suits him, but we don't mess each other around. We trust each other. And I don't think he's hiding from me because I'm going to yell at him when he shows up." She hugged her folded arms across her body. "I'm freaked, Mickey. I don't know where he is, and I'm really worried."

Mickey regarded her steadily. Emma half-shook her head. "And I know it probably sounds like I'm just getting worked up over nothing, but that's how I feel. And I don't know what to do about it."

"No." Mickey met her gaze. "I wanted to hear exactly what you were thinking. I didn't want to say anything until I heard what you thought. But you're right, Emma. You know Sean better than anyone."

Emma let out her breath, then put her face into her hands. Mickey felt a pang for her distress. "It's okay."

Emma lifted her head again. "I feel such an idiot. I couldn't have said all that to Ash, or even Albert. But I thought you'd get it."

"You'd be surprised by the things Albert and Ash would understand." Mickey smiled. "But leaving that aside for the moment… We have a problem to work out."

Emma's breath caught. "This is when I start panicking, Mickey. When I try and imagine all the reasons why Sean wouldn't be answering his phone – that he got mugged coming home – that he's lying in hospital somewhere - "

"One step at a time." Mickey's calm voice steadied her. "Go through what happened at the club. Tell me what you remember."

"We got there just after midnight. It was pretty packed, got even busier. We danced for a bit, had a few drinks…"

"Nothing happened in the club? Sean didn't get into any arguments with anyone?" Emma shook her head. "How much had he had to drink?"

"We had a few bottles of wine, some champagne at the restaurant, then he was drinking lager at the club. But he wasn't pissed, Mickey. There wasn't any aggro with anyone. He seemed all right till just before we left, sometime around half-three."

"What happened just before you left?"

"Nothing happened. He just said he was feeling the booze a bit, and he wanted to make tracks. So we headed out to the limo. I got in and that's when he said he'd left his wallet in the club. I told him to go and get it while I waited in the limo, but he told me to head off and that he'd get a cab home."

"Seems a bit strange, him deciding to shell out for a cab when you could've both gone home together."

"Yeah. I didn't really know why he was doing it at the time, but I was a bit… tipsy myself, so I didn't think too much about it. Anyway, he shut the limo door and told the driver to take me back here." She gestured at her phone. "I texted him as soon as I got in, and again an hour later to let him know I was still sitting up waiting for him in case he needed me to pay the cab… But I never got a reply."

Mickey rested his elbows on the counter, his brow furrowed with thought. Emma looked at him. "What… what do you think might have happened?"

"At this point… No idea." Mickey looked at her anxious face. "But I do know something. We need a bit of collective brain power." He stood up, pushing his coffee mug aside. "We need to do some leg work, and some fact finding. And I've a feeling Ash will be able to help. Come on." He nodded at the door. "Get your thinking head on. We'll rouse up the others and get to work. And try not to worry. Don't imagine worst case scenarios. I'm sure Sean'll be all right."


	4. Chapter 4

**Penance – Chapter Four**

The sound of the door opening woke Sean from a fitful and uncomfortable doze on the floor. His eyes blinked open and he clumsily rolled onto his side, pushing himself upright to see Rovin's knife man standing in the doorway. The fact that the knife wasn't in evidence was a small relief, but Sean felt anything but reassured by the stony-faced man looming over him.

"You stand up. I take you to speak with my boss now."

Sean got up, hesitated a moment, then stepped through the room's doorway. The man gripped his shoulder and ushered him ungently along a narrow passageway, then up a short flight of steps. A door at the top of the steps gave onto another short passageway, with several doors leading off it. Sean found himself propelled to the furthest one, where the man knocked, waited for an answering word from the other side, then escorted Sean in.

Rovin sat at a large desk a few yards from the door. There was a window behind him, but it was screened by a blind. Daylight was visible around its edges and Sean couldn't help giving it a longing glance.

"Sit." Rovin, reading some paperwork on his desk, spoke curtly. Sean looked in front of the desk: a stool had been placed in the space between the desk and the door. He felt an instant urge to be uncooperative, to show Rovin that he wasn't intimidated: remaining standing, he folded his arms.

Rovin glanced up, his dark eyes fixing on the young con artist. "I said, sit."

Sean met Rovin's gaze with an expressionless one of his own. _Make me._

Rovin made a gesture to the man who had brought Sean there, who was now standing by the closed office door. "Sit him down." Sean felt a large hand grip his shoulder, pinching the muscle above his collarbone so hard he winced, then found himself shoved down to sit hard on the stool.

At the desk, Rovin calmly finished reading the document before him. When he had done, he slid the paperwork away into a drawer, rested his arms on the desk and regarded Sean thoughtfully. Silence stretched.

Sean decided to take the initiative. "So you wanted to talk to me?"

"Yes." Rovin nodded. "But you only speak when I tell you to."

"Sounds like being back at school." Sean refused to be cowed.

"I imagine your teachers had a lot to put up with."

"I was a misunderstood kid. Nowadays, they'd call me gifted." In spite of the situation, Sean's anger at being pushed around was starting to overcome his apprehension. He saw Rovin's mouth tighten a little. "Always had trouble doing what I was told, me."

"Maybe your teachers did not know how to teach properly."

"Could be." Sean folded his arms.

"Where I grew up, in Ukraine, teachers there knew how to teach properly. With discipline."

"Sounds lovely. Why'd you leave?"

"In this country, no discipline. Children growing up, no sense of respect, running wild. Cause big problems."

"Yeah, but at least we don't pimp our sisters to western tourists." Sean knew he was pushing his luck with that one, but he couldn't resist it.

Rovin's chin lifted a little. "No discipline. No respect." He shook his head. "You have no respect."

"Yeah, well, being threatened with a knife, punched in the head and locked in a room has left me feeling a little edgy." Sean glanced back at the man still standing behind him. "Look. I know what I did eight years ago was out of order, and I know you're angry about it. But - "

Rovin said something sharp to his man by the door. Sean heard the man step around to stand just to one side of the stool, close by. He was holding a scarred wooden club, a darkened cylinder of wood about the size of an old-fashioned policeman's truncheon.

Sean felt whatever he'd been going to say die on his lips. He froze on the stool, his eyes fixing on the club… Then slowly lifting to the impervious face of the man holding it.

"Andriy, like me, was raised in Ukraine," said Rovin. "He knows the value of discipline, in earning respect."

Sean dragged his eyes away from Andriy's big fist clenched around the handle of the club, to look at Rovin. He had to swallow before he could speak. "Yeah. I see that."

"And now, to be sure you understand: you only speak when I tell you to. When I tell you to speak, you speak. When I ask you a question, you answer. You don't do this, Andriy will teach you some respect." He raised his eyebrows. "We are clear on this now?" Sean gave a small nod. Sweat was prickling between his shoulder blades. "Good." Rovin gave a thin smile, the first he'd shown. "Now, on one thing you are right. I am angry about what you did to me, eight years ago. And we will have to find some way of, maybe, restoring the balance between us. But first I would like to know more about you. Starting with your name."

Sean ran through several of the aliases he'd used at some point in his varied career, and picked one that he hoped was safest. "It's Steve. Steve Miller."

Rovin slowly shook his head. "Not a good start." He nodded at Andriy. The big man moved swiftly, driving his club hard into Sean's side. The young man was doubled up by the blow, letting out a gasp of pain.

Rovin waited until Sean was able to sit almost upright again before tossing some plastic bank cards onto the desk. He gestured at them. "If your name is Steve Miller, why is it you have credit cards in the name of 'Sean Kennedy'? Not to mention, several text messages from someone called 'Emma', no doubt your pretty girlfriend from the other night, calling you by the name of 'Sean'?" He stretched out his other hand, revealing Sean's mobile phone.

Wincing as he tried to straighten up, Sean stared at the phone. _Fuck._ His eyes switched up to Rovin's face. The man smiled again. "So many messages. What a popular young man you are. Quite a catch."

_Fuck. What the hell does he know? _Then Sean had a sudden unpleasant realisation. _So many texts? Christ, Emma must've been trying to get in touch with me for hours. How long before this bastard starts to suspect she's not just some girl I picked up in a nightclub? And then what's he likely to do?_

Sean wanted desperately to catch a glimpse of the phone's screen, to get a chance of knowing when his sister had last called. But from where he sat, the angle of his view made it impossible to see. Rovin noted his interest. "Oh. You want to know what your pretty girl has to say to you, Sean? I think she's a bit annoyed that you haven't rung her back. Not very respectful to her." He looked at the phone again and pursed his lips; then, unexpectedly, held it towards Sean. "You want to check your messages?" He slid the mobile across the desk, leaving it at the edge to Sean's left. "Go ahead."

Doubting Rovin's sincerity but not willing to miss a chance, Sean reached out. Intent on the mobile, he missed the slight nod Rovin gave to Andriy. The young con man's fingers were just touching the phone when the wooden club blurred down, smashing Sean's left hand and the mobile against the desk.

Sean let out a cry as pain exploded up his arm, jerking backwards. For a moment the agony in his hand shut out everything else. When he was finally able to draw in a shaking breath and lift his head, his eyes found Rovin's face. The Ukrainian leaned back in his chair, saying nothing but meeting Sean's gaze with a cold one of his own.

Sean dropped his gaze to the desk. The phone still lay there; dead, its screen shattered. Staring at it he felt the pain in his hand surge with the thump of his pounding heart. Catching his breath, he looked at his injured fingers: already they were starting to swell. His arm was shaking. It hurt so much that in any other circumstances he'd be making a lot of noise. But not here, not in this room. He set his lower lip between his teeth and tried to get his breathing to come steady.

Rovin leaned over, picked up the smashed mobile and tossed it into a wastepaper basket at the side of the desk. Then he looked at Sean. The young man's face was pale, sweat standing out on his forehead. "So. Sean. Here you are. A young man, in the prime of life. A successful young man, evidently. You've done well for yourself in eight years. A young man who has made money, I think. And I wonder, how much money?"

Supporting the wrist of his injured hand with his good one, Sean lifted his head. "I can pay you - the five thousand," he managed to get out, fighting to steady his voice. "I can – get you – the money - "

"Only five thousand?" Rovin shook his head, lips pursed. "I think you can get me more money than that. I think you can get me much more." At Sean's look of incomprehension, Rovin gestured at the wastebasket. "The latest iPhone, your expensive clothes, sending your girl home in a limousine…" He pointed at the plastic cards on the desk. "Receipts in your wallet from a high class restaurant, Platinum credit cards…" He looked at Sean. "I think you are a rich man."

"No." Sean swallowed. "I mean, I've got some money, I can pay you back, but I'm not rich. I'm not." He stopped, feeling trapped. _It doesn't matter what I say. It's what it looks like._

"Don't take me for a fool." Rovin leaned towards him. "You fooled me once, but once was all you get. You have money, and you will pay me. A great deal." He tapped one finger on the bank cards. "Starting with these." He spread them one by one across the desk, like a casino dealer fanning cards, then laid a sheet of paper and a pen alongside them. "First: you will write down the PIN numbers and passwords for these cards."

Sean looked at the cards. Rovin watched him for a moment, then said, "Write them down, or I will ask Andriy to break your other hand and make you dictate the numbers to me. It's your choice."

Sean said nothing. Andriy started to move - and the young grifter flinched. "Alright!" Shooting a glance at the big man standing beside him, he leaned forward and picked up the pen: scrawled the numbers and passwords Rovin had asked for. The Ukranian watched him carefully: when Sean laid down the pen and sat back, Rovin picked up the paper. "Good. We are making progress."

Sean met the man's mocking gaze with an angry one of his own. Rovin smiled. "You took my money, I take yours."

"You can't keep me here forever," Sean said in a low tone.

Rovin pursed his lips. "I can keep you here long enough." He folded his hands together. "I have an instinct about you. People like you do not change. I think, you probably make your money now in the same ways you made it eight years ago. By thieving and deception. And thieves do not generally have people around them who care if they go missing."

Sean was about to deny that, when he realised the sense of letting Rovin's assumption go unchallenged. _If I let him go on thinking that, he'll think he can take his time doing – whatever he's planning to do._ He didn't let himself dwell on that thought. _And if he thinks he knows everything, he'll be feeling confident. Which means he's more likely to make a mistake._

Rovin glanced at his watch. "I have a meeting soon. We will continue our business tomorrow." He nodded at Andriy. "Put him back in the basement."

At the grip on his shoulder Sean got quickly to his feet. Settling for giving Rovin a parting angry look, he let himself be manhandled out of the office and back down the passages and steps to his basement cell.

Stepping into the featureless room, Sean stopped after a few paces and turned back to face Andriy in the doorway. "Any chance of a drink of water and a visit to the toilet before you bang me up in here again?" he asked hopefully. Andriy shut the door. Sean sighed and sat down with his back against the wall.

Surprisingly, after a few minutes the door was opened again, revealing Andriy. He was carrying a large plastic bottle of water and a bucket. He tossed the bottle to Sean, who'd scrambled back to his feet, then held up the bucket. Sean looked at it uncomprehendingly. Andriy put the bucket on the floor, to one side of the door. Sean stared at it a moment longer, then realisation dawned. "Oh, what – you have to be kidding me!"

Andriy shrugged. "You piss in that or on the floor. Your choice."

"Don't they have indoor plumbing where you come from?" Sean scowled at the bucket. Andriy, who'd been turning away to leave, paused and turned back. Sean saw the intent in the big man's stance and backed up, but not quickly enough: Andriy swung one fist and caught the younger man in the face, sending him spinning into the wall. Sean groped with his good hand against the wall and managed to straighten himself up, turning quickly at the sound of Andriy's footstep on the floor close behind him. The big man stood within reaching distance as Sean felt the wall press hard against his back.

"You say something else about my country: I break you."

Tasting blood and wincing at the stinging of his cut lip, Sean answered, "Don't think your boss would be too happy about you taking the initiative on that one."

Andriy snorted. "Few days more, he will ask me to break you anyway."

Sean kept eye contact with the big man, grateful for the wall behind him keeping him upright. He half-expected a second blow to come – but Andriy abruptly swung away and left the room, banging the door closed behind him.

Sean let out a heavy breath, his head dropping down towards his chest. After several moments he slowly lifted it up again and wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, exploring the cut in his lip gingerly with his tongue. "Brilliant, Sean. Make the big man with the stick angry." He spoke aloud for bravado's sake, trying to chase away the memory of the fear he'd felt in Rovin's office.

Looking across at the bottle of water, he unsteadily pushed himself away from the wall and went to fetch it. His left hand was too painful to pick anything up with: grimacing, he gripped the bottle awkwardly between his left arm and ribs and unscrewed the cap with his right hand, then lifted it to his mouth to take a drink. His hand shook and he lowered the bottle with a muttered curse. _Come on, you big girl. A bit of a slapping and you go to pieces. Get a grip. _Clenching his fingers firmly on the bottle he lifted it again and drank; swilled the water round his mouth to rid it of the taste of blood, then swallowed. The water travelled down his throat and sat in his stomach like cold lead. He didn't feel like drinking more, but he made himself finish half the bottle. _No point getting dehydrated. Your brain needs water to work properly, that's what Mickey says. Going to need a working brain to sort this one out._

Recapping the bottle, he sat down with his back against the wall and shut his eyes. He didn't know what time it was: the daylight round the blinds in Rovin's office made it daytime and he guessed he'd probably been out cold for at least eight hours. That plus the kip he'd had could mean he'd been stuck in here for the best part of a day and a half. _Emma must be going spare._ He wondered fruitlessly about the messages he hadn't had a chance to read, on his now smashed mobile phone. _Wonder if she's pissed off with me._

-oooOOOooo-

Emma finished explaining her misgivings to Albert and Ash. Despite having had Mickey's acceptance of her concerns, she still felt unsure how of how the other two would react. They surprised her by pondering the situation in silence for a few long moments, before coming out with questions.

"So you think this tale of a missing wallet _was_ probably a blind?" asked Albert.

"Maybe. To get me to leave without him. But I don't know for sure."

"And you're sure he didn't get into any bother in the club? Didn't knock over anyone's pint, get into a bit of slanging match, that sort of thing?" Ash was frowning.

"Nothing like that. Nothing that I saw, anyway. It seemed like he was having a good time, just like I was, till he decided he wanted to leave."

"He was the one who decided when to go?"

"Well. yeah. He said he was feeling a bit worse for wear, said could we make a move. It was pretty late by then, so I didn't really mind going."

"Hm." Ash looked thoughtful. Emma waited for a long moment before breaking their silence. "Look… I just want to find out where Sean is. I'm really worried about him. It's not like him to just vanish like this."

_Not like him now,_ thought Mickey. _But like him a few years ago. _He kept his opinions to himself. "And the point is, he won't have just vanished. There'll be a trail, and we can follow that."

"CCTV." Ash spoke up. "That'll be the place to start. See if this club's got any security camera footage. I can get on that."

"If Sean's wallet did go missing and someone picked it up, the first thing someone would try to do would be use his bank cards," commented Albert. "I can have a look at his accounts online, see if there have been any withdrawals."

Mickey nodded. He looked at Emma. "This may be a bit difficult, but you're the best person to do it. If Sean was involved in something none of us knew about, some kind of trouble, there might be things stashed away in his room that would give us a lead. And I hate to say this, but… we ought to check his laptop too."

"You mean – go through his emails and stuff?" Emma looked horrified. "That doesn't feel right."

"If you'd rather one of us did it, that's okay," said Mickey quietly. Emma met his gaze for a long moment – then shook her head. "No. I'll do it." She sounded subdued.

Mickey nodded. "I'll get out and do some legwork, ask around and see if anyone's seen Sean in the last day or two. We'll meet back here tonight, see what we've got."

"All right." Emma got to her feet. "I'll start looking through Sean's stuff. If anyone finds something, tell me." The three men nodded. She gave a last glance at Mickey, then headed out of the room.

The three men waited for a good minute after the door closed. Ash was the first to speak. "Am I the only one thinking this might not have a happy ending?"

"Let's not jump to conclusions." Mickey spoke calmly.

"I don't want to, but it's looking like one of two possibilities at the moment, innit? Either Sean's done a disappearing act for some good reason, in which case he probably doesn't want to be found… Or something's happened to him."

"Finding a con man who doesn't want to be found would be something of a challenge," commented Albert in measured tones.

"We don't know enough at this stage to support any theories," said Mickey.

"D'y'reckon he'd do a runner, though? From us?" Ash was frowning.

"No." Mickey spoke decisively. "I think if Sean was in trouble he'd know he could turn to us for help. I think he'd be straight with us."

"He hasn't always been in the past," pointed out Ash.

"Sean's been working with this team for nearly two years now. I trust him."

"But you still asked Emma to check and see if he was involved in anything we didn't know about."

"It's one of the things you do with a missing person. Go through their personal effects and see if there's any clues as to where they might have gone."

"I don't like the phrase 'personal effects'," remarked Albert gravely. "It has unpleasantly ominous associations."

"Look, I'm not assuming anything at this point. I wanted to give Emma a task to do, something to keep her occupied."

"And you didn't want her doing any of the things we're about to do, in case she finds something that looks... bad." Ash looked sober.

"If something turns up that's bad news, I don't want her discovering that on her own."

"So when you said you were going to ask around and see if anyone had seen Sean in the last couple of days… I assume that also means you'll be checking with hospitals to see if they've had any admissions," said Albert slowly.

Mickey met the older man's gaze levelly. "Yes. Accident victims and casualties." The unsaid words, _and deaths_, hung in the air between them. Ash broke the following silence. "Well, let's get on with it, then."

-oooOOOooo-

It was late that evening before all four of them reconvened. Emma was the first to take a seat, followed shortly by Albert and Mickey. Finally Ash walked through the door at almost ten o'clock, holding a cup of take-away coffee on one hand and a DVD case in the other.

Emma was sitting on the edge of the sofa. Her brother's laptop lay on the coffee table in front of her. As Ash joined the three of them, Emma touched the laptop's lid. "I didn't find anything in Sean's room. And I checked his emails. There was nothing in them that looked like it might be to do with this."

Mickey rested his arms across his knees. "No word on the street of anyone seeing him. I tried places I know he goes to, but they haven't seen him in there in the last two days."

Albert cleared his throat quietly. He looked ill at ease. "I was able to take a look at Sean's bank accounts, using the passwords Emma gave me."

"You know his passwords?" queried Ash, raising one eyebrow at her. Emma gave a listless shrug. "I know how his mind works. Guessing his passwords doesn't take a genius."

"Well. According to his accounts records as of this evening, money has been transferred over the past twenty-four hours." The whole team looked at him. "Large amounts of money."

"That sounds like someone getting as much cash as they can before the cards get cancelled," said Ash.

"So maybe his wallet did get stolen after all." Emma spoke slowly, looking confused. "Someone took it and now they're using his cash cards."

"Pretty common occurrence," said Mickey. "And it sounds like an organised effort, if they did it all on one day. Like Ash said, money harvesting. Just squeezing the cards dry as quickly as possible before the owner reports them as stolen."

"But that still doesn't explain where Sean is," said Emma. "Even if he found his wallet had been stolen when he went back into the club, he could still have caught a cab home. He knew I was going to pay for it. And it doesn't explain why he hasn't called."

Ash took the DVD he was holding and laid it on the table. "This might shed a bit of light," he said carefully. "Got into the club posing as a CCTV licensing inspector, made 'em give me access to all the footage they recorded over the weekend. Sat through about five hours of dancing inside the club from Saturday night, no joy. Club owners seem more worried about keeping an eye on the bar staff to make sure they're not on the take, than watching over their customers. Then I spotted something." He pushed the disc across the table and Mickey picked it up and put it into the DVD player. Ash nodded at the screen. "First bit's only about a minute's worth. But it's definitely our boy."

A grainy monochromatic image appeared on the screen, of low-quality CCTV footage obviously shot from somewhere behind the bar. One barman serving stepped to one side, suddenly revealing Sean sitting at the other side of the bar, drinking a pint. Ash spoke. "Now watch this bit." The barman walked through the shot, obscuring the view: when he finally moved, Sean was no longer alone at the bar. He appeared to be talking to a large man, standing sideways on to the bar. After a moment, the barman walked back across the field of view, obscuring the pair. The CCTV clip ended.

Emma spoke at once. "When was that? I never saw him talk to any bloke like that!"

"Time on the CCTV footage says 3.10 a.m." Ash nodded at the television screen. "That was it, for inside. I went through the next hour's worth of film from that camera, but every time the bleedin' bar staff weren't standing in front of the lens, there was no sign of him. But turns out the club's got a camera over their entrance as well. Watching the punters leaving, make sure they don't lower the tone of the neighbourhood, that sort of thing."

A second clip was starting to play on the screen. Emma recognised it straight away: the angle of view from the camera showed the street outside the club's entrance. With a start she saw herself walking across the pavement to the waiting limousine, Sean just behind her. She watched silently as she got into the car, followed by Sean bending down, one hand on the limousine door. She had a sudden memory of his voice. _No reason for you to hang about out here in the cold waiting for me. You head on home._ The sound of the car door slamming shut. _I'll be right behind you._

The limousine on the screen pulled away from the kerb. Emma saw herself go, saw her brother left standing on the pavement, his back to the CCTV.

"Now watch this bit." Ash spoke up.

The four of them saw a large man, the same one they'd seen in the earlier clip, walk to stand close behind Sean. After a moment, both men turned and walked across the pavement, to another car with dark-tinted windows that stood parked further down the kerb. A rear door opened, both got in, then the car pulled away. The CCTV footage ran out and the screen went dark.

There was a long silence. Then Emma said, "I don't understand. Who was that guy? Why did Sean go off with him?"

"We don't know that. Yet." Mickey spoke in a steady tone.

"Sean wouldn't just… wander off with some bloke for no good reason." Emma sounded increasingly agitated. "I don't understand why he wouldn't have just told me what he was doing!"

Mickey and Ash exchanged glances. Albert said quietly, "You don't think there's a possibility that he just wanted to get you out of there as quickly and simply as possible?"

"What, you're saying he wanted to get rid of me? You think Sean was up to something, some – some dodgy deal - with whoever that guy was, and that he didn't want me to know what he was up to?" Emma shook her head angrily.

"My dear, what I'm saying is that maybe your brother wanted you out of there not to conceal something from you, but to ensure your safety," said Albert gently.

A beat fell between the four in the room. Emma sat still, her mouth slightly open; appalled realisation began to grow in her face. "Oh." She let out a breath. "Oh…"

"It's only a theory," said Mickey quietly, seeing the growing horror in Emma's eyes.

"But a theory that does go some way to explaining what we know so far of Sean's behaviour," rejoined Albert, equally quietly.

"But I don't – I don't understand - " Emma stared at the blank screen. "I don't recognise the man in that CCTV footage. I don't know who he is. How could he know Sean?"

"It could be that the man we saw there isn't the person who actually wanted this hasty rendezvous with your brother. Remember, he got in the back of the car after Sean. There must have been at least one person in the front. Probably two."

Emma had a sudden mental picture of Sean, coerced into the back of the blacked-out car, outnumbered. She found herself wrapping her arms around herself, hugging her chest to try to quell the rising fear there.

_- Come to think of it, you do look a bit out of sorts._

_ - Yeah. I'll be better for some fresh air, I reckon._

"Emma." Mickey's hand softly touching her arm made her look up, startling her from the memory of the club. "Don't think the worst. We can find him." His eyes shifted to the others, silently prompting. Ash was the first to pick up his signal.

"Yeah - don't fret, Emms. First thing in the morning I'll get back to the club, talk to a few folk. The car Sean got into was a Merc, this year's model. I'll bet that the club door staff will know whose it was – a customer that loaded, it's their job to look after 'em."

"And in the meantime, the best thing you can do is get some rest," said Albert encouragingly.

Emma looked at him with a slight shake of her head. "How can I sleep, knowing my brother's in big trouble?"

"Like I said: don't think the worst." Mickey nodded at her. "First thing tomorrow, we'll be onto it. And you should get some sleep. Things'll look better in the morning."


	5. Chapter 5

**Penance – Chapter Five**

Sean went from fitful dreams to uncomfortable wakefulness. His bed was harder than he ever remembered it being before: there was an ache in his hip that roused him even further. For some reason he couldn't roll onto his back, something was stopping him. He started to turn onto his stomach instead – but as his chest pressed down onto his left hand a sudden jolt of pain made him flinch back, letting out a startled groan. For a moment he lay frozen, staring blearily at the grubby floor beneath him… Then his eyes focussed on his left hand and he caught his breath.

_Oh fuck I remember_

His left hand and fingers were swollen, skin starting to darken with bruising. Moving carefully, Sean used his other arm to lever himself into a sitting position, resting against the wall at his back. Lifting his left hand to look at it, he tentatively tried to flex the fingers: a spike of pain made him catch a breath. _Right. Busted then._ He carefully let his arm rest in his lap. After a minute or so of recently-awoken muzziness, he raised his head and looked around the room. His water bottle stood nearby: he leaned over and snagged it, and was about to have a drink when his bladder signalled a more pressing need.

Getting his flies undone and peeing one-handed into the bucket was more of a challenge than he'd thought possible. For one sweaty cursing minute he'd thought that he'd never get his zip up again. But the thought of being found with his pants down, so to speak, gave him the motivation to persevere. Ablutions negotiated, he retrieved the water bottle and drank what was left. It wasn't anywhere near enough: he still felt thirsty afterwards. Not to mention, hungry.

As soon as the thought occurred, he tried to banish it, but it was no good. In the fluorescent light-filled room his sense of day and night, of passing time, was seriously skewed… But he could tell it had been a long time since that lavish dinner with Emma in the restaurant.

_Wonder if they do room service._ Sean smiled facetiously at his own thoughts, chin resting on one arm folded across his knees. He could feel the stubble on his chin. _Starting to look a bit on the seedy side. Not that that's my number one problem._

There was no way of predicting when the next meeting with Rovin would come, but when the sound of the door being unlocked suddenly came it sent Sean's heart into racing mode. He was on his feet before Andriy opened the door. When the big man came into view, Sean met his gaze but said nothing. _Remember: don't make the big man with the stick angry._

"Come." Andriy jerked one finger towards himself.

Sean stepped away from the wall. As he reached the doorway, he held out the empty plastic bottle. "Any chance of some more water?"

For an answer, Andriy caught hold of his shoulder and shoved him out into the corridor, knocking the bottle away. "That's a no, then," Sean muttered as he was propelled along.

They followed the same route as before, stopping once more in front of the door where Andriy knocked, waited for a response, then ungently ushered Sean inside. This time Rovin was working at a laptop, his face given a blueish cast in the blind-shaded office. Without looking away from his laptop screen, he said, "Sit him down."

At the grip on his shoulder, Sean said urgently, "All right, all right!" and sat on the stool. Andriy stepped to one side, within reaching distance: Sean noted the absence of the wooden club and was slightly heartened. _Maybe less stick, more carrot._

After a couple of minutes, Rovin closed his laptop and slid it to one side of his desk. Then he leaned back in his chair and regarded Sean. The young con was tempted to say something, but caution was closer to the surface after his last encounter with the Ukrainian. He settled for returning Rovin's gaze with a level stare of his own.

Rovin reached across the desk to a silver cigarette case; took out a cigarette and lit it. Exhaling smoke, he continued to regard Sean closely. "So. I have you join me again. We continue our discussion."

"Whatever." Sean shrugged. Rovin's eyes narrowed; he looked at Andriy and made small gesture with one finger. Sean didn't see the big man move, but the blow that struck him high on his right cheek knocked his head sideways. He was still swaying when a second blow hit, this time driving his lip against his teeth. He would have fallen off the stool if a hand hadn't gripped his shirt collar and jerked him back upright.

His ears were ringing. _Wow They really do ring when someone hits you hard enough _ was all Sean's brain could stupidly manage as he waited for his head to stop swirling. A warm glow of pain in his cheekbone and the salty taste of blood in his mouth brought him back all the way: when he opened his eyes and managed to lift his head Rovin was watching him. Sean swallowed, tasted blood again and grimaced: he felt a thin trickle spill over his lower lip.

"You have a poor memory," said Rovin dispassionately. "I told you the last time, you only speak when I tell you to: when I ask a question, then you answer. If not, Andriy teaches you some respect."

Sean said nothing: the ringing in his ears was fading, but the ache in his cheekbone was still there.

Rovin nodded. "Maybe we are making progress." He rested his fingertips together, hands on the desk. "And your cooperation with your credit cards, that has yielded some results…" He pursed his lips, making a 'so – so' gesture with one hand. "Not much, though. Not what I expected, from you, so obviously wealthy young man."

Fuming inwardly at the thought of his few nest eggs in Rovin's pocket, Sean nevertheless kept his face still. Rovin smiled at him. "So of course, my next thought is: where else has this wealthy young man put his assets? Because he surely has them."

"Well, that's where you're wrong - " Sean was cut off as, at Rovin's nod, Andriy struck him again across the face.

"Such a slow learner," remarked Rovin, as Sean was yanked back upright. "Did I ask you a question, that you should open your mouth? No."

Sean felt a line of blood start to trickle from his nose, joining the one from his lip. For a moment he had to shut his eyes, which gained him another yank on his collar. Opening his eyes again he found Rovin still watching him. _Shit. No carrot. Just more fucking stick._

"I want you to think very carefully about what you will say to me, next," said Rovin. "This time, I am asking you a question, so you will answer. Where are your other assets?"

"Wha…what assets?" Sean responded. Rovin looked impatient.

"Your other monies. Your investments. Your business dealings. Your car. What and where are they?"

"My _investments_?" Sean was suddenly overwhelmed by the bizarreness of the situation, to the point that a half-disbelieving smile formed on his lips. At the sight of it Rovin's expression hardened: he raised a hand towards Andriy, and Sean immediately flinched, his arm flying up to block any more blows. "Wait! Don't! I don't have it!"

"You don't have what?" demanded Rovin.

"Any of it." Sean shook his head vehemently. "Car. Investments. Other – _money_. I don't have any of that stuff. What I had, you've got now. That's it."

"The pitiful sum we took from your bank accounts?" said Rovin disbelievingly. "You expect me to believe this?"

"Believe it or don't believe it, it's the truth. I'm not the wealthy man you think I am!"

"You eat at one of the most expensive restaurants in town, visit an exclusive nightclub, drive your woman away in a limousine." Rovin leaned threateningly over his desk. "You are telling me this is not what a wealthy man does?"

"It was a one-off, a special night!"

"With this girl you say is 'nobody special'? Just some woman you pick up at the club, you complain you have to buy her oh so many drinks?"

"No – she wasn't anyone special – but it was - " Sean felt his heart beginning to race. _Don't let him get any ideas about Emma. _" – just a blowout, I'd made a packet of cash, I wanted to celebrate, have it large for a night! That's all!"

Rovin looked at him with cold eyes. "I think you take me for a fool. You think you can hide your other assets from me, by telling me this ridiculous tale."

"Look, I don't have anything else! Can't you get that through your stupid brain - " As soon as the words left his lips, Sean knew he was finished. Rovin's angry look at Andriy was the only warning Sean got before the big man stepped across and took hold of his broken hand, lifting it high and tightening his grip hard.

White-hot pain flooded down, as Sean screamed. The hurt of the crushing grip was so sickening it doubled him over, but Andriy's hold relentlessly hauled him upright again. He let out another cry, not as loud this time as shock robbed him of the force of his breath.

Rovin spoke over the sounds Sean was making. "You forget yourself. You forget where you are." Andriy tightened his fist still more and Sean's head bowed, a strangled moan coming from between his teeth. "Still you have no respect."

_Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck_ Pain ripping through him, Andriy's hand the jaws of a pit bull closed around his hand. Too much pain to breathe, to stay upright, to think. Bones grating together. _Stop stop stop Going to throw up fuck FUCK_

Then the grip unclenched: his arm was still held, but his hand was no longer being crushed. Sean took a sobbing inward breath. Sweat was flooding his skin, his shirt sticking to his back; he shivered uncontrollably.

"Listen, Sean." Rovin's voice cut through his dazed mind and Andriy's grip shifted on his arm: Sean's head jerked up, eyes finding Rovin in instant compliance. The Ukranian pointed at him. "Now. You tell me, where I will find everything else you have."

Sean felt his lips begin to tremble, found himself giving an unsteady, frantic shake of the head as he stuttered, "I haven't – haven't - " The shivering in his body was growing: he set his teeth together, desperate to be understood. "Haven't – _got_ – anything else - " He felt Andriy start to shift his grip up his wrist, back towards the broken hand.

_Fucking think of something You're a con artist Con him for fucks sake._

"I make the money, then I s - sp – spend it as fast as I get it – It all fucking goes, it goes as quick as I make it – That – that's how come – the club and the restaurant and the limo and the girl - " He could feel the fear overtaking his voice and tried to hold it back. _Don't fucking go to pieces __now__. _ His eyes held Rovin's as he waited for the pressure to clamp down, the terrible pain to start again.

A long moment passed. Then, astonishingly, Rovin let out a sigh: sat back in his chair. Nodded at Andriy. The grip around Sean's left wrist released and he let out a shuddering breath as he brought his hand close to his body, gripping his forearm with his right hand and holding it still, as if that would shield it from harm.

"You make money and you throw it all away." Rovin sounded half amused, half disgusted. "Seven years I work in this country, building up from nothing. I am a foreigner here: I have to work twice as hard for half as much. Yet now I have good business: good money, good car, reliable men who work for me, girls who work for me, all good. All from hard work. And you?" He snapped his fingers disparagingly. "Born in UK, easy life, make easy money, and you throw it all away. You make nothing." He shook his head. "You are nothing."

Sean stayed silent, not looking away from the other man's eyes. Rovin regarded him steadily. "And a nothing like you, you cheat me. You make me lose face with men I work with. So what will you do now, to show your respect?"

Sean's brain froze. His thoughts ran blank, as the combination of pain and fear overcame him like fog. _He asked a question, he wants an answer,_ gibbered in his mind and his heart thudded under his ribs.

"No answer?" Rovin's tone was darker.

Sean let out a breath. "I - " His throat was so tight he had to swallow before he could get the words out. "I – said - I was sorry."

Rovin looked unimpressed. "I think… You will be more sorry." He stood up and walked out from behind his desk. "Get up." Sean looked up at him, uncertainly. "I said, get up." The young con artist unsteadily got to his feet. "Now." Rovin stepped in close to him. "You are nothing. Say it."

Sean stood eye to eye with the Ukranian, still cradling his injured hand against his body. Being on his feet diminished the fear a little, but his brain still felt slow. "Wh – what?"

"You are nothing. Say it."

Sean felt the tiniest flowering of anger in his stomach. It fought against the fear: he reached down inwardly and tried to hold on to it. Setting his mouth shut he stared back at Rovin and said nothing.

Rovin said something sharp in Ukranian and an instant later Sean felt a punch from Andriy smash into his back. The blow landed low, over his left kidney, and Sean fell to his knees on the floor. The pain was so bad his head filled with a roaring greyness that cleared slowly to leave him bent with his good hand braced on the floor, head down, breathing raggedly through his open mouth.

A foot scraped on the floor next to him before a kick slammed into his side. He rocked then curled tighter, going foetal in an instinctive attempt to seek shelter. He was expecting the next kick and his right arm was already curled around his head, so that the foot that slammed into him did not land on his face with the full force that had been aimed at it. Blindly holding onto himself, he waited for the next blow. It didn't come.

After long moments, a hand gripped the back of his neck and hauled him up onto his knees. Swaying, he managed to cradle his throbbing left hand against his throbbing ribs. His mouth was full of blood: he started to swallow, gagged; spat on the floor between his knees.

"Filthy scum." Sean felt his hair gripped, his head pulled back until his neck ached, such a small pain amongst all the others, as Rovin came into view. "You spit on my floor? Clean it up." The grip on Sean's hair let go and he was shoved forwards to kneel all fours. Rovin's voice repeated, angrily: "Clean it up."

_Can't take any more of this. _Sean unsteadily moved his right arm, swiping it across the blood on the floor, blotting it up with his shirt sleeve. As he did so, fresh drops of blood fell from his chin. Arm shaking, he wiped them away too. His mouth was still full of blood: he swallowed and fought the heave of sickness that this brought. _For fuck's sake don't throw up on his floor. _

The blood on the floor was smeared away. Very slowly, every second expecting another kick or punch, Sean pushed himself back up into a kneeling position. Andriy grasped his hair again from behind, forcing him to look up at Rovin once more. The Ukranian bent over him. "You are nothing. Say it."

_Fuck you Fuck you Fuck you. _ Sean shut his eyes, so that Rovin wouldn't see his thoughts. His lips stung as he opened his mouth. "I'm – nothing."

"Say it again."

"I'm nothing - "

"Again."

"I'm – nothing - "

The grip on Sean's hair released. Then his shoulder was held, pulled upwards. Somehow he found himself back on his feet, eyes opening to see Rovin taking his seat back behind his desk, reaching for his laptop, attention already elsewhere. "Put him back downstairs. Make sure he doesn't bleed on the floor all the way there."

-oooOOOooo-

The sound of the penthouse door opening made Emma, Mickey and Albert look up. Ash walked into the room, cast a quick look at his fellow cons, then dropped into a chair.

"Well?" demanded Emma, sitting forward. Ash held up a hand to forestall her.

"All right. I found out whose car Sean got into." His eyes switched to Albert and Mickey, then back to Emma. "Belongs to a one Jacob Rovin."

Emma paused, looked baffled, then half shook her head. "Never heard of him. And Sean never mentioned him."

"Yeah, well… That's probably 'cos you two don't tend to move in Rovin's social circles. Or at least I hope you bloody don't."

Albert was tapping his lower lip with one finger, looking grave. "Unfortunately I don't share your ignorance of the man in question." At Emma's frown of enquiry, he made a small deprecating gesture with one hand. "One's familiarity with the darker sides of the underclass tends to increase unavoidably when in prison. And Jacob Rovin is a name I heard some… frankly unsavoury anecdotes attached to."

"I dropped in on a few guys who owe me favours, people I thought might have some info on this bloke," said Ash. "Turns out Rovin's a Ukranian boy made good: came to the UK, set up in 'business' a few years back, clambered his way up with muscle and sharp deals. Now he makes a very tidy living out of girls and black market trading, with a few protection deals on the side. Thinks he's untouchable but hasn't made too many friends in his rise to riches. Word is he's not someone to get on the wrong side of."

"So why on earth would Sean get into Rovin's car?" Emma demanded. "He wouldn't mess with someone like that. He can be a bit headstrong sometimes, but he's not stupid – he wouldn't risk getting involved with someone with a reputation for violence."

Ash shrugged. "That ain't the most urgent question to answer, hon. What's more important to work out is, how do we go about finding out where Rovin's taken your brother?"

"Engineer a meeting with Rovin." Mickey's statement made the others look at him. "If Sean's with Rovin… either willingly – which is doubtful – or unwillingly, then we need to make contact with Rovin."

"On the level?" asked Emma incredulously. "Just meet him to ask for Sean back?"

"Oh, no." Mickey shook his head. "I doubt that having a heart-to-heart with this man will get us anywhere. If we go in as Sean's friends wanting to get him back, then Rovin's got all the leverage he needs to make it very difficult for us to get him freed. Worse still, Rovin might start feeling he's playing a risky game… He might suspect that we'll get the police involved."

Ash made a grim face. "That's the last thing we need, to make Rovin jumpy."

Mickey nodded. "Right. So we work this like a con. Rovin is the mark. Sean is the pay-off."

"You're talking about playing a con with my brother as the prize?" exclaimed Emma. "You're bloody crazy! If this Rovin is as dangerous as he sounds, we need to get Sean away from him right now!"

"What do you have in mind?" Mickey spoke quietly. "Going to the police? All we know is that Sean left the club and willingly got into Rovin's car. The police will hardly see that as a case for investigation. But the moment we get the police involved, we risk pushing Rovin into doing something extreme." He held Emma with his gaze. "We'll get him back, Emma. But we'll have to do it our way."

There was a long silence. Albert was the first to break it. "If this man lives up to his reputation, then the best way to get his attention and hold it will be by showing him exactly the same things he uses to impress his competition… And by appealing to his greed."

"So we just make him an offer he can't refuse?" said Emma.

Albert smiled. "Absolutely. And, my dear, I have just the thing in mind. It does however require Mickey to shoot you. Have you any objections to that?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Penance – Chapter Six**

Once again, hours passed indeterminately in the featureless room that was his cell: once again, Sean sat on the floor with the bottle of water he'd grudgingly been given, nursing his bruises and turning over increasingly hopeless ideas for how to get out of the dire situation he was in. At last he fell into a fitful doze that lasted until he was woken by the sound of Andriy unlocking the door.

His third visit to Rovin's office seemed to coincide with lunch, or perhaps with supper: although the still drawn blinds didn't allow much of a clue, Rovin was eating when Sean was led into the room. Sitting in front of the desk watching the Ukranian work his way through what looked like some kind of sweet pastries heightened Sean's dizzy realisation that it must have been some days since his last meal. He couldn't help letting his eyes fasten on the food that the Ukranian was casually breaking into pieces and inserting leisurely into his mouth. Sean felt a hope surface in his mind that the man might choke on a mouthful: inadvertently one corner of his mouth twitched.

Rovin chose that moment to look up. Sean made his mouth go still. Rovin regarded him for a moment, then pushed the plate with his partly-eaten pastry away. Instinctively, Sean's gaze followed it. Rovin smiled, amused. "Oh, you are hungry?"

Sean redirected his gaze to Rovin's face. "I'm fine."

"Sure? After all you, you've been here… some time now. Not eaten anything. You must be hungry." Rovin chuckled. "Or lying."

Sean stubbornly said nothing. Rovin leaned across his desk and pushed the plate forward, towards the young con. "You want some? Take it. Too much for me to finish."

Remembering when he'd reached for his mobile phone, Sean made no move. Rovin frowned. "You don't trust me?" He gestured at Andriy. "Give him it." The big man picked up the plate and held it close to Sean. The young con looked at Rovin, frowning. Rovin nodded. "Go on. Eat."

_Fuck knows what mind games he's playing now. But I might as well have a full stomach while I'm trying to work it out. _ Sean scooped the pastry remnants from the plate and bit into them. Flavour, greasy and sweet, flooded his mouth. It was hard not swallow the food down whole, but he managed to hold himself back, conscious of Rovin's slightly mocking smile. It was only a couple of mouthfuls but just the feeling of food landing in his stomach sent a rise to his spirits_._

"Good?" Rovin inquired. Sean gave a half-nod. Rovin raised his eyebrows. "What, no thank you?"

Sean met the other man's gaze. "Thanks for the food? Or for the guest service in general?" He cast a look around the room, at Andriy, at his left hand. "Ain't feeling too overwhelmed with gratitude, as it happens."

Rovin pursed his lips. "Not good manners. But then, this is something of a theme with you, I think." He counted off on his fingers. "No manners. No respect."

"Yeah, so you keep telling me." Sean knew that he was pushing his luck, but this cat and mouse game was getting to him. "What is you want from me? You have your muscle beat me up, then you stick me in that room to get over it, then you drag me up here again. I don't know what you expect I'm going to say or do that's gonna make any difference to what's already happened. I already told you, I don't have any more money. And that I'm sorry I ripped you off six years ago. So what more do you want from me?"

Rovin regarded him silently. Sean waited for a moment, then pressed on. "You want me to promise that I won't talk about what happened here, after this? I promise. I'll never tell a soul. I'll never mention your name. I'll never get in your way again. Just… let me go, and it'll be like I never messed with you. All right? I'll just go away, disappear." He could feel his voice rising, betraying the fear that still sat in the pit of his stomach. Suddenly he wanted out of there so badly he was sweating.

Rovin shook his head. "You still don't seem to understand. I want from you respect. Still, I don't see it." He stood up and walked out from around his desk, coming to stand in front of the young con. "Respect. What is this? Tell me."

"It's…" Sean searched for an answer that wasn't going to lead to trouble. "…Not dissing someone. Showing them that you're not going to mess with them."

Rovin smiled. "No. Respect is two things. It is fear. And it is realising that other person, you are owing them everything. That you are like this - " he held finger and thumb half an inch apart " – and they are the one who can take even that little away." He eyed Sean. "You don't understand this, even now. You are breathing, here and now, because I let you. And yet you show me no respect for this."

Sean said nothing. _Don't know where this is going but it doesn't feel good._

Rovin stepped to one side. "You seem to learn best from practical demonstration," he suggested. "So, we show you: what is respect."

Sean felt Andriy's hand grip his shoulder, then he was pulled up and forward as Rovin opened the room door, and led them out into the corridor. They walked down the passage, as if returning to Sean's basement room – but before they reached it, Rovin stopped at another door and opened it, switching on a light as he did so. Sean was impelled inside by Andriy, coming to a halt in what, he was startled to see, was a washroom.

No luxury ensuite, by any means. The old-fashioned washbasin full of water was chipped and limescaled, the tiling cracked and grimy. Sean stood still in Andriy's grip, feeling the weirdness of the situation. _No soap. So whatever else they're planning, I'm betting they're not going to scrub my back._

Rovin spoke. "Old bathroom... Only cold water now, plumbing not good." He jerked his head at the basin. "But I think you could use a wash."

"What?" Sean looked at the water, then at Rovin.

"I said, you need a wash." At the young man's failure to move Rovin nodded at Andriy, who put Sean's left arm into an armlock behind his back - then closed his other fist around Sean's broken hand.

Sean let out a cry that echoed off the tiles. The pain was unbearable, a searing stabbing that seemed to explode from his fingers up his arm as if his hand was caught in a red hot vice. He couldn't move, couldn't get free: Andriy closed his fist tighter and this time Sean screamed until his voice broke.

And then his hand was released but the grip on his arm pushed him forward towards the basin. Sean put his good hand on the rim to stop himself from falling: pain still hammered at his left hand, aftershocks of the grinding pressure on his fractured bones. He managed to keep on his feet, but only just. Sweat dripped from his face into the cold water inches below him.

"We help you wash." Rovin spoke from just behind him.

_Fucking hell that hurt_ was all Sean had time to think, before Andriy's hand gripped his neck and forced his head down into the cold water.

The old sink was deep enough that the water closed over him: his eyes shut reflexively as he let out air in a startled gasp. Instinctively he tried to pull back but the grip at his neck was too strong, pinned him down with his face underwater so that panic rose in him like a tide -

Then the hand on his neck jerked him upwards and Sean lurched back upright, water spilling out of the basin in a wave that soaked his shirt. Breathing hard, swaying in Andriy's grip, he blinked water out of his eyes. Managing to meet Rovin's gaze, he tried to get his breathing to come steady.

"When I spoke of respect, remember what I said. That you are breathing here and now, because I let you." Rovin spoke quietly but meaningfully.

Sean made no reply. His right hand tightened into a fist, knuckles whitening.

"You learn now, what this means." Rovin nodded at Andriy. Sean felt the big man's grip tighten on his neck – then he was pushed forwards again.

Unable to resist the pressure against him Sean submerged with a choked-off cry, his good hand groping for the edge of the sink. Andriy's weight was behind the hand gripping the young con's neck: water blinded Sean, flooded into his mouth and nose. He began to struggle against the pressure holding him down, twisting from side to side in an attempt to wriggle free. The pressure increased, pinning him there. More air escaped from his nostrils, between his clenched teeth.

The dread of pain was replaced by desperation: _They're going to fucking drown me -_ and he clawed blindly at the slippery basin and tiles, at Andriy's hand still clamped on his neck, trying to wrench himself free. Then there was no air left and his blood was roaring in his ears and his mouth was full of water and he couldn't make his arms work any more as his burning lungs failed to get oxygen and his brain started to shut down.

Out of roaring mist the pressure on his neck released and he felt himself yanked upwards, his face breaking the surface. He choked and coughed up water, dragging air into his lungs, clinging onto the edge of the basin with his one good hand. He heard water dripping from his hair onto the floor, tried to slow his harsh, gasping breathing.

Then Rovin spoke. "Again." Sean only had time to let out a wordless sound of protest before Andriy's hand locked onto him and bore him back down into the water. He fought wildly to try to get free, arms flailing against the bruising porcelain. He had less air this time and the animal fear took over, a desperation to get out, to escape, whatever the cost.

_Not going to let me up Not going to die in here Not how it ends Got to get out Got to Can't breathe can't breathe -_

Water filling nose, mouth, throat, the blackness back as his strength drained away… And then, as before, the sharp jerk pulling him back up into air and breath and slowly returning consciousness, bending forwards with his head resting on the edge of the washbasin, spitting up water and sucking in air that burned as it went down his throat.

"One more time." Rovin's voice made Sean jerk and clutch at the basin edge but it was too late, he was being pushed down again with the water closing over his face and flooding into his mouth.

_Gonna drown me._

He came unravelled.

_Don't let me die here Please god Please -_

He felt the blackness and cold rolling over him like a tidal wave, he was sinking to the ocean floor and the pressure of the deep was crushing him as he felt something inside go out like a blown match.

Sean was so far gone he didn't know when Andriy lifted him up, hauling him away from the washbasin to let him fall face down on the bathroom floor. Water ran from his mouth and nose, streamed from his hair. Still barely conscious, he retched up water reflexively; his body convulsed and then he coughed, air streaming back into his lungs with an agonised whoop. As oxygen reached his brain again Sean's eyes opened and he stared at the water puddling on the floor beneath him; then was shaken by another bout of coughing. After a few seconds he was able to breathe without choking but stayed where he was on the floor, tremors running through his body.

Rovin's voice came from above him. "Now. I wonder, has this practical demonstration worked? Hmm?" Andriy's hand came down and gripped Sean's shoulder, hauling the helpless young con up to sit leaning back against the washbasin, shivering. Rovin looked down at him. "Well? What do you say?" Sean's mouth was trembling but nothing came out, except his wracked, unsteady breathing. Rovin pursed his lips. "Okay. Maybe more, then."

As Andriy took hold of him, Sean's voice broke from between his trembling lips. "Please - "

Rovin stopped his hired man with a raised forefinger, then cocked his head at Sean. "What? Did you speak?"

" – Please - " Sean's voice was hardly more than a hoarse whisper, shaking as his body was shaken by the shivering that gripped him. His mind felt smashed into fragments, chaotic shards of ice, sharp and unsafe. Just the word held him: he said it again, some kind of mantra to hold back the dark. " - Please – "

There was a long silence. And then Rovin bent down, until his face was almost level with Sean's. "Okay. You respect me now. I let you breathe."

Sean barely registered being pulled to his feet, being taken the short walk back to his room. After the door had closed behind Andriy he stood for a long minute leaning against the wall opposite the door. He was still shivering: water dripped from his hair onto the floor.

Then his knees gave way and he slid down into a sitting position with his back against the wall. The shivering intensified until his body shuddered as he began to weep, harsh half-smothered sobs that jarred his aching lungs. Even as he wept he tried to stop, pressing his right hand across his eyes whilst his arms hugged close against his body.

_Stop. For fuck's sake stop. It's over. It's over._

His jaw clenched: his right hand became a fist where it rested against his head. With an effort that made every muscle in his body go rigid, he managed to stop the sobs. But his body continued to shiver for a long time, as he sat against the wall.

-oooOOOooo-

The Mercedes came to a gentle halt. Dressed in a smart dark suit, Ash walked across from the gate that he'd swung closed behind the car and waited whilst Rovin's two minders got out and visually checked out the factory yard. One then held the car door for Rovin, who climbed out and gave the area a sweeping look.

"Mr Graaf is waiting inside," Ash said. Rovin turned to look at the factory building, then hard at Ash. "I bring my men with me."

Ash nodded. "That's fine. Mr Graaf understands the needs of businessmen." He led the way to a door in the side of the factory building and ushered Rovin and his two minders inside. They came into a large open space, which Ash walked swiftly across, Rovin and his men bringing up the rear. When they came to another door set in a panelled wall, Ash opened it. Rovin looked at him narrowly, then walked through.

Behind a desk Albert, his hair dyed black and sporting a Van Dyke beard, sat with a mobile telephone at his ear: as his guests arrived he acknowledged their presence with a nod and a beckoning hand gesture, whilst speaking coolly into the phone in a harsh Dutch accent. "Bring her here, now. This will not take long to resolve." He paused for a second, evidently listening to a response, then barked, "Her excuses are of no interest to me. Bring her here. I've two meetings this afternoon and I don't intend to waste long on this." With that he shut off the phone and placed it in his jacket pocket. Turning his eyes keenly onto Rovin, he made a gesture at Ash, who took up postion near the desk, opposite Rovin's minders. Then Albert addressed Rovin. "Mr Rovin? I am Frederik Graaf. Thank you for responding to my invitation."

Rovin's eyebrow raised half a centimetre. "I understood it was an invitation to do business, Mr Graaf. I am always ready to do business. If it's worth my while."

"Yes. Of course." Albert held Rovin's gaze, as if sizing the Ukranian up. Rovin met his scrutiny with a cool stare of his own, unphased by the older man's inspection. After a few seconds, Albert gave a slow nod. Steepling his hands together and leaning back in his chair, he spoke to Rovin. "It is a business proposition that I wish to pursue, of course. A small matter, but I think I can make it worth your while." He reached into his pocket and drew out a photograph, tossing it onto the desk between them. "I understand that you may know this man."

With a brief glance up at Albert, Rovin unhurriedly leaned forward a little in his chair to pick the picture up, then studied it casually. It was a photograph of Sean, evidently blown up from a smaller picture to judge by the graininess of the image, but recognisably of the young con. Rovin regarded it for about five seconds, his face revealing nothing – then tossed the photograph back onto the desk. He looked at Albert again, silently. Albert smiled. "I applaud your reticence. Let me make things very clear: I understand that you encountered this man a few days ago. I simply wish to know if you are… currently aware of his whereabouts. Because if so, I am interested in, shall we say, renewing my acquaintance with him."

Rovin regarded Albert impassively. "Does he owe you money?" he asked. Albert smiled, a brief smile that left his eyes cold and passed as quickly as wintry sunshine. "Oh, not just money. There are outstanding matters between this man and myself that need to be settled. Two of my employees were in fact watching him in the club last week, when they saw him leave in your car with one of your men. Now, there could be two reasons for this: either he is working for you. Or you wished to meet with him for reasons of your own… And perhaps he did not wish to meet with you."

Rovin pursed his lips briefly, as if indicating that he neither confirmed nor denied this. Albert folded his hands together on the desk. "I should say, at the risk of being obvious, that I do not expect a businessman like yourself to simply hand this man over to me. No: of course, I would make it worth your while. Provided, of course, that he is alive."

Rovin regarded Albert steadily. "Without admitting that I know where this man is…" Albert gave a half-nod, making a gesture of understanding. "How much do you think you would offer, to make such a business transaction worth my while?"

Albert held the other man's gaze. "Shall we say… Five thousand?"

Rovin gave a mirthless smile. "Shall we say, ten?"

Albert narrowed his eyes, leaning back in his chair again and resting his fingers on his lips. Moments passed in silence between the two men, before the sound of a mobile telephone shrilled in the room. Albert reached into his pocket and brought out the cellphone, answering the call. "Yes." He listened. "Bring her inside." Shutting the phone off he got to his feet behind the desk, holding one hand up to Rovin briefly. "Excuse me, Mr Rovin. I have something to attend to; it won't take a moment. Please wait here, and I will return to continue our discussion." With that he opened the office door and left the room, followed by Ash.

Turning in his chair, Rovin could see through the door, which had been left ajar. He saw Albert walk briskly across the factory floor. Another door opened to one side, out of sight, spilling daylight across the floor: the sound of a woman's voice, protesting fearfully, came into the space. A second later the woman herself became visible, being dragged forcibly into the factory by a black man, his eyes covered by dark glasses. Rovin could only see the woman from behind, her expensive-looking clothes and long dark hair dishevelled by the brutal treatment she was receiving. As she was brought towards Albert her whole posture conveyed terror.

While Rovin watched, the woman was flung in front of Albert so hard she collapsed onto the concrete floor, letting out a cry of pain. Albert spoke to the black man. "She had nothing?" The man shook his head. Albert looked down at the young woman, who was now crouching in front of him, making almost incoherent sounds of pleading. "Enough of this. You were warned." He gestured at the black man. "Finish her."

The young woman let out a cry of terror, trying to catch hold of Albert's legs: then screamed again in pain as the black man seized her by her hair and shoved her face down onto the concrete. He drew a semi-automatic and levelled it at the woman, firing at short range into her body. She slammed against the concrete: the black man stepped in close and fired twice more. Albert was already walking away, back towards his office.

Rovin turned away from the doorway, his dark eyes narrowing as he stared across the desk. Despite himself, he was impressed. But he made sure that this didn't show in his face when Albert resumed his seat. The older man gave a brief, falsely regretful smile. "Apologies. Have you had time to consider my business proposition?"

Rovin considered. He suspected that the execution of the girl had probably been deliberately timed to happen while he was there, to convey unsubtly that Graaf was a man not to be toyed with. But as a 'businessman' himself, he knew better than to appear cowed. He shrugged. "You are prepared to offer ten thousand for this man?"

Albert took let a long breath pass out of him, regarding Rovin with assessing eyes – then suddenly gave a satisfied, dark smile. "Agreed. I will pay you ten thousand pounds when you hand him over to me, tomorrow evening." He reached into his pocket and took out another cell phone, a duplicate of the one he'd taken his call on. "Take this. I will ring you on it tomorrow, to say where we will finish the deal."

"You don't want me to bring him here?" asked Rovin.

"No, no." Albert gestured slightly at the doorway that led to the outer warehouse, making an unsaid reference to the violence that had happened there only moments earlier. "I won't be using this place again."

"You will bring the money with you tomorrow," said Rovin clearly.

"Of course." Albert nodded fractionally. "But remember, Mr Rovin: I want him alive. No damaged goods, if you please."

Rovin allowed a narrow smile to appear on his own face, for the first time. "I think, Mr Graaf, we can do business. This man is alive, and my concerns regarding him - " he made a throwaway gesture " – are finished. As for damaged goods…" His smile stayed on his face. "My business with him required some… firm handling, you might say. But nothing permanent."

"Excellent. Until tomorrow, then." Albert stood. "Show Mr Rovin out."

Ash walked Rovin and his two minders to the car, opened the factory yard gate and let them out. After shutting and locking the gate he waited for several minutes, one eye to the peephole in the gate, as he watched to make sure that Rovin was truly departing. When the Mercedes had been out of sight for some time he straightened up, turned, and headed back into the factory. He slipped back in through the door and spoke quickly. "Coast's clear."

Sprawled facedown on the floor in a spreading pool of blood, Emma let out a cough and started to push herself up. Mickey reached out a hand to help her and she got to her feet, spitting out the stage blood capsule that she'd broken in her mouth. More stage blood soaked the front and back of her dress and coat. Mickey smiled at her as he handed her his handkerchief. "Good performance."

"You weren't bad yourself," she answered, wiping her face and grimacing.

"Even had me scared, when you grabbed hold of my hair."

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" Mickey asked concernedly.

Emma shook her head. " 'Course not. I knew how to swing with it, like we practiced." She looked across to where Albert was walking to them, from his office. At once her face fell into worry. "Did it work?" Her voice was strained with tension.

"It all went according to plan," Albert assured her. "He definitely has your brother, and he's agreed to hand him over. Tomorrow evening, as I suggested."

"How much did he want?" asked Mickey.

Albert shrugged. "He pushed me to ten thousand, in the end. Perhaps not the high stakes player that he believes he is."

"I don't care about the money. I just want Sean back," said Emma swiftly. "I wish we didn't have to wait until tomorrow. I wish we could get him out right now."

"I know, my dear." Albert spoke soothingly. "But to make this work, we all have to play our parts without a shade of doubt. And a 'businessman' of Mr Graaf's type would not be of the sort to appear over-eager. We don't want to give Rovin anything to be suspicious about."

Emma looked at Albert. "Did he – did he say anything about – how Sean is?" Albert regarded her steadily. "No." He elected to keep Rovin's comment about _firm handling _to himself. "Which is all to the good."

Ash spoke up. "I hate to rush everyone, but we ought to get moving. I made sure Rovin and his mob were well gone, but that's not to say they won't double back. And we've got plenty to organise before tomorrow."

"Ash is right." Mickey nodded. "Let's head back to base."

As they walked to the factory door, Ash smiled at Emma. "Being brunette suits you, hon. Got that… Elizabeth Hurley thing going for you." Emma gave him a silent look, and walked past to the doorway. Ash shrugged, then slapped Mickey on the back. "You made a nice hitman too, mate. Very classy."

"Learned everything I know from watching you." Mickey allowed a brief smile, before they followed Albert and Emma from the dark factory.


	7. Chapter 7

**Penance – Chapter Seven**

Sean didn't know how long he'd sat shivering against the wall before he'd fallen asleep. Waking with a start, he'd blinked at the fluorescent light, feeling the chill of his body in his damp shirt. After a while he'd lain down, carefully holding his broken hand so as not to jar it He was mindful of other pain, from his ribs where he'd been kicked; from his head, where Andriy's punches had landed. Once he was lying on his side the pulse of his blood throbbed in his hand, forcing him to try to think of other things.

The problem was, he couldn't find a distraction. Every time he tried to turn his thoughts to something hopeful – to the possibility of getting out of there, to Rovin getting bored and letting him go, to seeing his sister again – he failed to hold the images for long. His exhausted, stressed body and sleep-deprived brain were finally succumbing to the ordeal of the past few days.

He fell asleep again, fitfully: waking repeatedly out of nightmares of drowning with Andriy's grip on the back of his neck pinning him down under the water. Each time he woke to stare blearily at the floor he was lying on, the room was the same. He lost sense of time: he had no idea if hours had passed since his last confrontation with Rovin, or a day, or two.

When the sound of the door unlocking finally jolted Sean into full wakefulness he was slow to sit up, pushing himself unsteadily upright with the wall at his back. His head swam with dizziness as he lifted it: he blinked hard and tried to focus on the shape in the doorway, which resolved itself into Andriy. The big man nodded at him. "Get up. You come."

Using the wall as a prop, Sean slowly got to his feet. Swallowing, placing one foot in front of the other, he crossed the space towards the big Ukranian. Andriy stepped aside to let him pass through the doorway, then gave him a push that sent Sean wobbling up the corridor.

As they reached Rovin's office Sean tried to slow his breathing, calm the hammering of his heart against his ribs, but it was a fruitless attempt. As Andriy opened the door and ushered him in, Sean felt sweat blotting his shirt against his back and ribs, shakes beginning deep inside him. When Rovin looked up, Sean had to hold himself still with an effort.

"Sit him down." Rovin pushed his laptop to one side of his desk and regarded the young con, as he sat down on the stool before the desk. "So, Sean." He raised his eyebrows. "I think we are finished, you and I."

Rovin's words settled into Sean's brain. It took a moment for them to register, but when they did Sean felt something rise unexpectedly into his chest: relief. _He's letting me go. Thank fucking god._

Then the relief was swept away by something colder and darker, as Sean looked into the Ukranian's dark, mocking gaze. _Oh Jesus. When he says it's finished - _ Sean felt fear push an involuntary breath out him, before it locked his throat tight.

Rovin smiled. "Ah. I see finally you have learned, what is respect." He leaned back in his chair. "It took some time. But you have learned."

The sweat was running down Sean's skin, tracking down his body. He kept his eyes on Rovin's, keeping silent, not knowing what to say or what to do that would avert whatever was coming next.

"So your time here is, as I said, finished." Rovin made a dismissive gesture. "You and me: we are done. However… It appears that I am not the only person you have inconvenienced. Someone else would like to take up some of your time."

Sean listened to Rovin, confusion combining with the fear in his faltering mind. Rovin saw the bewilderment in his face, and smiled again. "Lucky for me, this man is willing to pay for the pleasure of your company. So I will take you to him. And with him…" He chuckled. "I think you will not have such an easy time as you have had with me."

The irony of Rovin's words registered dimly on Sean's consciousness, the young con's brows drawing down as he tried to understand what was going to happen. The fear that had climbed into his chest sat heavy on him, his thoughts spinning out into almost mindless panic as Andriy took his arm and pulled him to his feet. Past cons flickered in his head like a series of films: faces, names, places, deals, as he tried to make sense of what Rovin had said. But all that he could manage to say as he was taken out of the room was, "Who – who wants to see me?"

Rovin just laughed. "You'll know soon enough."

Sean was led through corridors, down a flight of stairs and through a door into a garage where a Mercedes stood waiting. His arms were jerked in front of him and Andriy tied his wrists tightly together with a plastic cable tie, jarring Sean's broken hand so that the young con cried out. Then a cloth bag was pulled over his head: Sean felt himself pulled forwards, heard the sound of the car boot opening – and then suddenly he was roughly lifted up, manhandled off his feet into a confined space, his knees pressed towards his chest so that he was lying curled on his side in the trunk of the Mercedes. Andriy's voice spoke harshly above him, in the cloth-muffled darkness. "Make a sound and you are dead."

There was the loud _slam!_ and jolt of a boot closing above him, and Sean lay frozen motionless in darkness. He felt the car doors slam; heard the engine start. His journey began.

-oooOOOooo-

Mickey checked the clock on the BMW dashboard. From beside him in the passenger seat, Albert spoke reassuringly. "He'll be late. You'd expect it of a man of his sort. Wanting to prove a point."

"Late we can deal with." Ash, sitting in the back, spoke shortly. "If he decides to try anything else unplanned, that's when we're up shit bloody creek without a paddle."

"Let's keep calm," said Albert, still in the same unflappable tones. "Remember, this is a con, same as any other. We play it out."

"Except the stakes are higher than we usually play for," commented Mickey, meeting Albert's eyes.

The older man gave a slow nod. "Yes, the stakes are higher. All the more reason to keep focussed."

The sound of a vehicle made all three men stiffen momentarily: both Ash and Mickey looked out of the BMW, across the derelict waste ground that was starting to darken as evening faded into night. Rovin's Mercedes approached slowly, crunching to a halt a hundred yards away.

"I bloody hope Sean has the nouse not to give the game away when he sees us," muttered Ash, readying himself to leave the car. Mickey shot him a frown, revealing that he was having the same concerns.

From the passenger seat Albert spoke up again. "Sean is a good con artist. He'll work out what's happening, and play along."

Two of the Mercedes doors opened, and Andriy and another of Rovin's men got out. Taking a deep breath in unison, Ash and Mickey opened their own doors and climbed out of the BMW. For a minute there was a silent face-off, both sets of 'minders' scoping each other and the surrounding area. Then Andriy bent to open the back door of the Mercedes; moving deliberately slowly, Mickey did the same to the passenger door of the BMW. Albert and Rovin got out of their respective vehicles and made eye contact: they both walked a few steps towards each other, halting between the two cars in the glare of their headlights.

Rovin spoke first. "You have the ten thousand?"

Albert smiled thinly. "You have the man I wanted?"

Rovin shook his head. "I want to see the money first. Then you will have the man you came for."

Albert's gaze roamed across Andriy, then the other man; took in the empty seats of the Mercedes; finally settling back on Rovin. "I trust, Mr Rovin, that you intend to satisfy your part of our deal. I would be very… disappointed if there were to be problems."

"No problems." Rovin replied in a comfortable tone. "But I have a rule: never bring out the goods until the money has been put down. As a businessman, you understand."

"Of course." Albert held Rovin's gaze a moment longer… Then he raised one hand and gave a single snap of his fingers. At this Ash turned and leant into the BMW, straightening up again with a black attaché case, which he carried across to the two businessmen. At Albert's nod, Ash opened the case, displaying the rows of bundled notes stacked within. Rovin ran his eyes over the money carefully, sizing up the amount. After a moment he nodded. "Yes. We can do business." He raised his own hand and gestured behind him at the Mercedes. Andriy moved to the rear of the car, and opened the boot.

Behind Albert, Ash and Mickey watched with well-concealed disquiet as the Ukranian minder hauled a figure out the trunk of the Mercedes. They saw the burden in the big man's arms almost fall sideways, only to be hauled up straight. As Andriy swung the person round they saw the cloth bag over the head and the tied wrists, the feet clad only in socks stumbling as they were led across the broken ground. Andriy dragged this figure to stand just beside Rovin and Albert. Rovin nodded. "Show him." The bag was pulled off, and it was Sean standing in front of them, swaying and blinking in the glare of the two cars' headlights. Rovin jerked his head briefly at the young con, looking at Albert. "This is the man you want?"

"Yes. That's him." Albert spoke as though relishing the moment. The sound of his voice brought Sean's head up, the young man's face full of exhausted dread… And then his eyes widened with the shock of recognition.

_Play along, Sean. __Play__along__._ Mickey felt a silent plea rise in him, keeping his face expressionless with an effort as he looked at the young man. Standing beside Rovin, Ash was stony-faced; still holding the attaché case of cash, the model minder waiting for his boss's instructions. Mickey heard Sean's breath catch in his throat: a choked sound, as if he'd been struck.

"Quite the surprise reunion." Albert's words sounded gloating. "You weren't expecting to see me again, I think. Yet life is full of surprises." He turned to Rovin while making a gesture to Ash, who closed the attaché case and handed it over to the Ukranian. Rovin took it, then nodded at Andriy who gave Sean an ungentle push towards Ash. Ash gripped him by the shoulder, keeping his eyes on Albert: the old con smiled at Rovin. "A pleasure doing business with you, Mr Rovin." He glanced at Sean, who was standing in Ash's grip, still white-faced with shock. "I'm afraid you won't be seeing our young friend here again." He pointed to the BMW. "Put him in the car."

"Good riddance," said Rovin, smiling. He let his gaze rest contemptuously on Sean for a moment longer as he was led away by Ash – then with a brief acknowledging nod at Albert, Rovin walked back to the Mercedes and got in, followed by his two men. Albert also made his way to the BMW, getting in the front passenger seat and letting Mickey close the door behind him. Behind them, Rovin's Mercedes made a three-point turn and drove away in the direction it had come from.

Mickey watched the Mercedes go, one arm resting on the BMW roof. When its lights had disappeared into the distance, he swiftly slid down into the driver's seat and shut the door. "They're gone." He was starting the ignition as he spoke, but he took a moment to turn and look into the back seat. "Everybody OK?"

Sean had his head down, but beside him Ash met Mickey's eyes with a sober look. He just nodded. Beside Mickey, Albert spoke quietly. "Let's follow the plan. Time to get moving."

Mickey started the car, began to turn it to get them out of the deserted waste ground. Albert reached into his coat pocket and took out a mobile phone, keying in a number. As soon as it was answered he spoke. "We have him. We'll be at the rendezvous in fifteen minutes."

Emma's voice broke in his ear. "You've got him? Is he all right?"

"Everything looks to be still attached, my dear."

"Oh God – Can I - "

"Remember the job, Emma." Albert's firm voice cut through her distress. "We'll be with you in fifteen minutes, and you'll see your brother then. I promise you we'll take good care of him in the meantime."

An uneven breath was followed by Emma's voice, sounding unnaturally controlled. "Right. I'll see you in fifteen minutes." She hung up and Albert cut the connection, leaning back in his seat. His eyes shifted up to the rear view mirror.

Ash hadn't bothered to try putting a seat belt around Sean, trusting Mickey's driving to keep them safe. When the young con had first got into the car he had let his head fall forward, hiding his face. Ash could hear his ragged, halting breathing: for a minute he let Sean stay like that, giving him time to process what was happening. Then he saw the young man's shoulders begin trembling, his whole body start to shake. He spoke in a low voice, close to his ear. "Hey mate, long time no see."

Sean let out a sound that sounded like a gasping laugh. His head lifted a little: it was dark inside the car, but Ash winced at the bruising he could see on the young con's face. He managed to turn his expression into a grin. "Bet you thought you'd won the Lottery when you saw us turn up."

Sean was still shaking: a twisted smile came onto his lips, as he took a trembling breath in. "You… took your bloody time!" His head turned and he looked at Ash with a face that showed he was wrung out almost beyond the point of endurance. "Better – late - than never, though…"

"Yeah, well, that's what the cavalry does, dunnit. Rides over the hill at the last minute and saves the day." Ash noted that Sean was still shaking. Quickly he stripped off his own jacket. "Here, put this on – you look bloody freezing."

"In a s…sec." Sean clumsily lifted his arms a little, and Ash realised stupidly that the young con's wrists were still lashed together with the cable tie. "Can… can you get… this thing off?"

"Course I can. Hang on." Ash fumbled in his trouser pocket, locating his penknife: once he had it, it took him only seconds to cut through the tough plastic. As Sean's hands fell apart, Ash heard him give a groan of pain. "Whassup, mate – I didn't cut you, did I?"

"No…" Sean caught his breath, bowing his head. His right hand had closed around his left forearm, supporting it against his body. "Hand – hurts - " He breathed in and out through stiffly held lips.

Ash gingerly laid his jacket over Sean's shoulders, taking care not to jar his left arm. "All right, mate. You'll be all right." His own hand held out something silvery and flat: a hip flask, taken from his jacket pocket. Unscrewing the cap, he proffered it to the young con. "Go on, have a belt of this. You look like you need it."

Straightening up a little, keeping his left arm close to his body, Sean reached out with his good hand and took the flask from Ash. His fingers shook as he lifted the flask to his mouth: he took a sip, wincing, and swallowed. As he made to lower the flask, Ash said, "Call that a drink? That's bloody single malt, that is. Have some respect – you hardly even taste it with just one mouthful." He watched as Sean drank again, then carefully took the flask back from the trembling fingers. "That'll warm you up, eh."

Sean let out another shaky laugh. Looking to one side at the dark car window, he seemed to be getting his bearings. "Where… we going now?"

"Dump this car and switch to another. Emm's waiting for us at the rendezvous." The mention of his sister's name obviously had an impact on Sean. "She'll be glad to see you, mate. Been nagging us something rotten since you turned up missing."

Sean swallowed. "She… all right?"

"Course she is." Ash kept his attention on the young man, his mouth tightening as he saw the cuts as well as bruises marking his face; the way he was holding himself crookedly upright, favouring one side. "She would've been here with us, but she had to keep out of Rovin's way after the little act we put on for him yesterday."

Sean looked at Ash, and the older man saw fear suddenly in the young con's eyes. "What did she do?" His right hand clenched white-knuckled. "You didn't let Rovin near her?"

"Not bloody likely," Ash said quickly. The white knuckles relaxed, but only slightly. "It's all right, son. We just staged a little drama, to make him think Albert was the kind of nasty character he could do business with. Your sis had a minor starring role, but well at a distance."

Sean frowned, his exhausted brain struggling to keep up. "So Albert made a deal with Rovin…" He gazed at Ash in consternation. "Was the money you had in that briefcase for real?"

"Well, yeah," said Ash. "Only way to bring the deal off."

"How much?" asked Sean weakly.

Ash regarded the young con warily. "Ten thou." He saw Sean frown again, and quickly added, "Which wasn't an issue, mate. S'only money. And it had to be the real deal, to work this. Last thing we wanted was Rovin sussing he'd been played, and comin' after all of us. This way it's all sorted: he thinks you're being dealt with by a bigger badder wolf than himself, plus he's ten grand up on the deal. He's a happy bunny." He waited for a moment.

There was a haunted look in Sean's eyes that gave Ash a large clue as to what thought was occupying him now. "And if you're worried about bumping into him again in future, relax. Rovin's made a lot of enemies in the last couple of years; and word on the street is, it won't be too long before he either ends up face-down in the Thames or getting booted out of the UK all the way back to Ukraine. Where I doubt they'll be waiting for him with a warm friendly welcome." Sean said nothing, but his eyes closed momentarily, as if with relief.

Mickey spoke from the front of the car. "We're here." The BMW turned into an unlit backlot, then crunched to a halt. A few yards away stood a people carrier: as Mickey turned off the ignition, the driver door in the other car opened and Emma got out.

"You all right to make a move?" Ash asked Sean noncommittally.

Sean gave a small nod. "Just wish… I had some shoes," he said with a fleeting smile. "My feet are bloody cold."

All four men exited the BMW, and started to walk towards the other car. Emma was already moving, hurrying over the ground towards her brother. She slowed only at the last instant, putting her arms around him and hugging him in close embrace. "Sean!" For long seconds brother and sister just stood holding each other, heads close.

Emma at last released her hold a little on her brother, keeping her hands on his shoulders but drawing back so that she could see his face. He smiled at her, but her shock at what she could see of his condition in the darkness showed in her own expression - although only for an instant. She pressed her lips together, then managed to smile back. Sean spoke in an unsteady voice that betrayed his own emotion. "Good to see you, sis."

Emma let out a half laugh, half sob. "You - " She caught herself; took a deep breath. "Don't you ever do this to me again!"

"Wasn't – planning on doing it this time." Sean's smile was wavering.

Ash spoke shortly from beside the people carrier. "Touching reunions can continue en route. We need to get moving." He got into the driver's seat, whilst Albert got in the passenger side: the other three moved to the back doors.

Sean sat next to the window, with Emma in the middle and Mickey next to her. The darkness inside the car made it hard to see much but like Ash, Mickey could tell Sean was in bad shape. He spoke quietly as the car began to move. "We'll head into town, find the nearest casualty department - "

"No." Sean's response was instant. "I don't want… to go to any hospital. I just want to go back to the penthouse."

"You should get checked out." Mickey could see the way the young con was holding himself, as if every jolt of the car was hurting him. "It probably wouldn't take long…"

"No, I - " Sean swallowed. "Look – I – I'll go tomorrow, all right? I'm just – wiped. All I want is - to go back home." His voice sounded unsteady. Emma laid her hand on his arm.

"Maybe Mickey's right - " She stopped as Sean shook his head.

"_Please_, sis." His voice was within an inch of breaking now. "Home. Please?"

Emma pressed her lips hard together, as she had when she'd first seen him. After a moment, she acquiesced. "All right. Home it is." She turned her head and her worried eyes met Mickey's, asking him silently to agree.

Mickey nodded slowly. "Sure."

From the front, Albert spoke. "I have a suggestion that will allay any anxieties. We'll take you home; and I've got a medical friend, Andy Duffy, who makes house calls. I'll call him en route and have him drop by. He can take a quick look at you, make sure there's nothing that can't wait until tomorrow."

Sean let his head droop to rest against the window, shutting his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was weary. "All right."

-oooOOOooo-

The journey back to the penthouse passed mostly in silence. When they reached the building, Ash stayed in the vehicle as the others got out. "I'll ditch this and get a taxi back here afterwards – and pick up this Dr Duffy geezer on the way." Albert nodded, and Ash shut the driver's window and drove away.

Now just after midnight, the building was quiet and the four cons made it up to the penthouse without meeting anyone. Emma unlocked the door and they walked in: she closed it behind them, turning as she switched on the light. In the sudden brightness Sean winced, narrowing his eyes and half turning away. But not before the three others saw for the first time just how badly beaten he was.

Albert's head tilted back in a characteristic expression of concern; Mickey's eyes betrayed the disquiet that his still face tried to mask; whilst Emma's hand lifted to cover her mouth. She recovered quickly, lowering her hand and moving towards her brother. "Sean. _Jesus._" She took hold of his arm carefully, studying his face; then her gaze fell down to his left hand. "Oh god - "

Sean took a half step backwards. "I'm… all right, Emms."

"Look, you need to sit down, go and sit down, I'll get the first aid kit - "

"No… No." Sean edged further away, shooting a harried look at Mickey and Albert. "I… I need to get a shower. Get… get out of these… bloody clothes…" He swallowed. "Get cleaned up a bit…"

"But - " Emma was about to argue when she saw Mickey give her just the tiniest fractional shake of the head. Catching back what she had been about to say, she took a breath… Then managed to give her brother an unhappy smile. "All right. Go on then, get yourself a shower. Chuck your clothes outside the bathroom and I'll stick them in the wash."

Sean gave her a smile that was as unconvincing as her own. "Cheers… sis." Then he turned and walked unsteadily down the passage that led to the bathroom.

Emma turned to Mickey, about to speak, but he forestalled her by touching one forefinger to his lip and nodding at the kitchen. Speaking aloud, he said, "Let's get some coffee on. I think we all need it." His arm, without touching Emma, steered her towards the kitchen door.

As soon as they were inside, Emma rounded on Mickey. "A shower! He should be in bloody hospital, the state of him! What did those _bastards_ do to him - "

Mickey held one hand out to her, calmingly. "He'll be okay - "

"Okay? _Okay_?" Emma jabbed a finger at him. "My kid brother's been battered to hell and back, and all you can say is, _He'll be okay? _" She turned to the doorway. "I don't care what he says, he's going to bloody hospital tonight if I have to frogmarch him there - "

"Emma." Mickey stepped swiftly in front of her, this time putting his hands gently on her shoulders. As she looked up angrily into his face, Mickey gave a shake of his head. "Think for a second. Sean's just spent the last six days being forced to stay somewhere against his will." His eyes held hers steadily. "You need to back off a minute. Give him some breathing space."

There was a long silence, as Emma stared furiously into Mickey's eyes… Then her shoulders slumped. Letting out a shuddering breath, she gave a jerky nod. "All right." The anger was still in her voice. "But I swear, Mickey… If I ever see Rovin crossing the street and I'm behind the wheel of a car – that bastard will never get to the other side."

-oooOOOooo-

Locked in the bathroom, Sean was unaware of his sister's tirade. As soon as the door was closed he'd begun stripping off the filthy clothes he'd been wearing for six days. One-handed and still unsteady, it took him several goes to get his shirt undone: when one button defeated his fumbling fingers he yanked the cloth aside, ripping the button loose. His socks were already lying in a sodden pile, which he dropped his shirt onto. Getting his trousers off was harder: he was forced to sit on the edge of the bath to drag them over his feet. He was shivering again, and groped to switch on the shower so it would begin to run its warmth into the room.

Once he was naked he climbed into the shower, trying not to look at himself. Every move he made, some part of him hurt. As the warm water flooded over him he let out a gasp; he swayed, then braced his good hand against the tiled wall, standing with head bowed forwards in the falling spray. Cuts on his face and head stung, but he kept himself under the showerhead, letting the water sluice over him, trying to wash the last six days away.

The memory of Emma's face in the hallway, her hand to her mouth, came into his mind. Involuntarily he winced and turned in the shower, letting the water run against his back. _Don't think about it. Don't think about anything. Just get clean._

He reached for the shower gel, clumsily struggling one-handed to get some out. Although it hurt more than the water he painstakingly washed himself from head to toe. Carefully over the bruises and cuts on his face and head. Gingerly over the areas of his ribs and back where Andriy had kicked and hit him, where the skin was now bruised dark. He couldn't bring himself to touch his left hand, swollen and darkened too in ominous shades of purple: even letting the water run over it was almost more than he could stand.

When he'd washed every part of himself he turned the water off; fumbled a towel around himself and began to get dry. He was no longer shivering, finally warm after so long feeling chilled. Standing still, he lifted his head and looked at his razor, lying on the shelf. He touched one hand to the stubble on his face: then put his hand to the mirror, wiping it clear of steam. His reflection looked back at him; for long seconds he simply stood, staring at himself in the mirror.

_Don't think about it._ Swallowing, he picked up the bottle of shaving oil; spread some over his stubble. Picked up his razor. Then began to shave himself one-handed. It took a long time.

-oooOOOooo-

Leaning against the kitchen counter, arms folded and letting the mug of coffee that Mickey had made for her go cold, Emma was watching the doorway. Mickey and Albert, in their turn, were watching her. Occasionally the two men exchanged glances.

At last Emma straightened up. "All right, he's been in there ages. I'm going to get him out, right now."

"I'm sure your brother will come out when he's ready," said Albert mildly. When Emma rounded on him, he gave a slight shake of the head. "It's as Mickey said, my dear. Give the lad some breathing space." He took her arm. "In fact, I think rather than hovering in the kitchen like suspicious parents, we could all just as well wait for him in the comfort of the lounge." Ignoring her obvious desire to disagree, he gently steered her away.

They had been sitting in the lounge for some time – Emma edgy and restive - before a quiet footfall made them all look up. Sean stepped slowly into the room, his eyes glancing warily around. He had donned clean clothes, a loose dark shirt and trousers; he was clean-shaven and washed. But as he carefully lowered himself down into an armchair he moved as if brittle.

Emma sat forward on her own chair, resisting the urge to move to put her arms around him. _Breathing space. Right._ She made her voice as normal as she could. "Feel better for that?"

Sean nodded, stiffly. "Yeah…" He let his eyes close for a moment, then opened them to look at her with a fleeting smile. Then his gaze fell on the mug beside her. "That coffee?"

"Yeah. You want some?" Emma was already on her feet. "I'll get you a cup."

"Cheers, sis." Sean watched her go, then looked over to where Mickey and Albert sat. The older grifter spoke first. "Well, son, you're a hell of a sight. But it's good to have you back."

"It's good… to be back." Sean swallowed. "Ash told me, about the ten thou you guys had to put down."

Albert waved this away dismissively. "A mere detail. And, if I may say so without inflating your ego unnecessarily, worth every penny." He gave a kindly smile.

Mickey nodded, adding his affirmation. "We'd have paid a lot more, to get you back. You're part of the team." His face showed a warmth of affection for the young con that belied his simple statement.

Sean swallowed again, dropping his head a little as if overcome by their words. When he looked up this time his eyes were suspiciously bright, but all he said in a husky voice was, "Thanks."

The sudden noise of the penthouse intercom cut through the room. Sean started violently in his chair, pulling in a sharp breath as Emma's shout of "I got it!" came through from the hallway. He recovered quickly, trying to cover his start by shifting in his chair to look towards the doorway. Mickey and Albert exchanged covert glances.

Emma came into the room, carrying a large mug of coffee. "That was Ash with Duffy. They're on their way." She handed the coffee to her brother. "There y' go. I put three sugars in it, you look like you could use it."

Sean took the mug in his good hand with a wry smile. "Thanks, sis. That's great." Putting it to his lips he blew on the coffee, then took a large gulp of it. His eyes closed momentarily: then he took another gulp. And another. Emma watched him drink with a slight frown. "Look, there's more where that came from. You don't have to drink it at the speed of light."

Chastened, Sean lowered the mug. Across the room, Albert chuckled. "I'm betting that tasted pretty good."

"Yeah." Sean smiled sheepishly at Albert, then at his sister. "Any chance of a refill, then?"

"Course." She took the now-empty mug off him, then walked back to the kitchen. Mickey spoke to Sean. "When did you last eat?"

Sean shook his head. "Don't know… What day is it?"

"Thursday."

"Thursday?" Sean's brow furrowed. "Bloody hell… Six days since the club?"

"We'll get you some food sorted," said Mickey. "You must be hungry."

"I ought to be, but…" Sean shook his head. "Not really. Just wiped out, like I said."

The sound of a knock on the penthouse door was closely followed by the sound of it being opened, then the appearance of Ash in the room with Andy Duffy in tow. Emma escorted them, carrying a refilled mug of coffee that she handed to Sean.

Duffy, his medical kitbag slung on one shoulder, nodded in greeting to Albert and the general gathering, then looked at Sean. "I'm going to go out on a limb and deduce that you're the patient," he commented cheerfully. "Shall we go play doctor?"

Sean put down his coffee, getting to his feet. "Right..."

"Bit of privacy?" Duffy asked him.

"Can use my room," said Sean. The two exited the lounge, leaving the other four cons together. Ash was the first to break the silence. "Is that coffee?" he asked hopefully.

Emma sighed. "I'll make you a cup."

"Lovely." Ash spoke with relish, rubbing his hands together and dropping down into the armchair. As Emma retreated to the kitchen yet again, Ash jerked a thumb towards where Duffy and Sean had gone and said to the others, "He's scrubbed up a bit. Still looks a bloody mess, though."

"Yeah." Mickey was looking pensive. "Let's hope it looks worse than it is."

-oooOOOooo-

In his bedroom Sean pulled the door to then stood uncertainly by it, watching Duffy unpacking medical kit from his bag. The small wiry Irish doctor turned to see him standing motionless, and gave him an encouraging smile. "Come on, then. Let's be havin' you. So to speak."

Sean stepped forward, still hesitant. "Where – where shall I - " He stopped and took a breath, dismayed to realise that his heart was hammering under his ribs. Sweat was coming onto his skin.

Duffy regarded him calmly. "Well… Let's take a look at your head, first. Sit down on the bed. I promise not to take advantage of you." Sean sat down and Duffy bent close to his face, lifting a pencil torch to his eyes. "Now… Want to tell me a bit about how you got some of these?" he asked conversationally. "A few punches, was it?"

"Yeah. A few." Sean held himself still as Duffy leaned in close to examine his head.

"Closed fist? Blunt instrument?"

"Bit of both."

"Lose consciousness at any point?"

The memory of Andriy punching him in the back seat of Rovin's Mercedes, outside the club, rose up in his mind. "Yeah." His voice came out hoarse: he swallowed and tried again. "Just… the once. Right at the beginning."

"How long for?"

I… don't know. A few hours… I think..."

"Uh huh." Duffy began to feel over Sean's head and face carefully with his fingertips, applying just the gentlest pressure. "Anything else?"

"I got… a bit of a kicking, too." Sean felt a hot feeling rising inside him.

"Kicked where?" Duffy let go of his head, looking thoughtful.

"In the side. And… the head, some."

Duffy nodded, then turned away, dropping his torch onto the bed. "And you say you were just knocked out the once. No other blackouts later on, anything like that."

"No."

"Dizziness, nausea, headache?"

"A bit… maybe."

"Right y'are." Duffy nodded. "Well, you've got a few nasty dints and bruises there, and you're probably a wee bit concussed… But as far as I can see, there's nothing worse than that. Although you'll want to get a head x-ray to make sure there's no small fractures there. Let's take a look at your ribs, now."

Standing, Sean slowly unbuttoned and took off his shirt. Duffy repeated the process of visual and tactile inspection, gently covering the darkly bruised area with professional thoroughness. He brought a stethoscope out and took a few seconds to listen carefully to Sean's breathing. Then he took the earpieces out of his ears. "Well, that sounds clear enough. I'd say you might have a couple of cracked ribs there, but no sign they've done any damage to your lungs." He made a small circle in the air with his hand. "Turn around, let me take a look at your back." Sean did so: seconds later, he felt Duffy gently touch the area low down on his back where Andriy had kidney-punched him. The doctor applied a fraction more pressure and Sean inadvertently shifted forwards, sucking in a breath.

"Sorry." Duffy sounded contrite.

"S'okay." Sean breathed out, slowly and silently this time.

"All right, you can put your shirt back on." Sean did so one-handed, turning to face Duffy once more. The doctor was looking thoughtful again. "Nasty bit of bruising there. Kick, was it?"

"Punch."

"Mhmm." Duffy pursed his lips. "Been peeing any interesting colours? Specifically, red?"

"No."

"Good." Duffy nodded. "You can sit down again." Sean did so. Duffy sat also, then reached deliberately and very carefully for Sean's left arm. "Now I've left the best bit till last… On account of, heads and lungs and kidneys are generally considered a wee bit more vital in the general scheme of things than your hand here." Taking care not to touch the hand, he gently but firmly gripped Sean's wrist and turned it to look at the hand from both sides. "Now that's a sight, all right. Mind telling me how it happened?"

"A big bloke hit it. With a big stick." Sean kept his eyes turned to one side, looking at the opposite wall.

Duffy spoke again. "Just the one blow?"

Sean remembered Andriy closing his fist around the broken fingers, squeezing them together: remembered the pain bending him double as his cry echoed in the dingy washroom. His eyes shut: he felt a tightness in his chest. Duffy's voice brought him back.

"Are you still with me, Sean? You're awful quiet in there."

Sean opened his eyes. "Yeah." He swallowed. "He… did it one day. Then, he – had a go at it again later on, a couple of times." The tightness in his chest remained.

"Right you are." Duffy's voice was quiet. "That'd do it. Can you move your fingers and thumb a wee bit for me?"

Sean tried: instantly pain made him let out a hissing breath. "Ffff…" At once Duffy put his other hand on Sean's shoulder.

"All right, relax." He waited a second, then gently let go of Sean's wrist. "You've a broken hand. Although I don't suppose you need me to tell you that. Probably a couple of busted fingers." He began looking through his bag. "I can put a dressing round it for a bit of padding and support, and I'll give you some painkillers for tonight, but you'll need to get yourself to a casualty department first thing in the morning." He looked at Sean soberly. "Unless it or anything else starts to feel a lot worse during the night, in which case you need to get to casualty right away. Understood?"

"Yeah." Sean watched Duffy rip open a sterile dressing. "So… They'll need to put a cast on it, then."

"At the very least." Duffy paused for a moment, then looked steadily at him. "I won't be bullshitting you, Sean. That looks like a fracture, and it's gone untreated for several days. I'm surprised you're not down at casualty right now. It must be giving you a lot of pain."

Sean gave a half shake of his head, watching as the doctor began to bandage his left hand. "Yeah, it hurts. But I just didn't want any more… being messed about with tonight." He winced, then held himself still.

Duffy continued securing the dressing, his hands moving precisely but gently. "Fair enough. But they'll read you the riot act at casualty tomorrow for not comin' in sooner, so best be prepared for that. Have a cover story ready."

"How… how long do y'think it'll take to heal?" asked Sean.

Duffy raised an eyebrow. "What, is your career as classical concert pianist in jeopardy?" At Sean's weak grin, he grinned in return. "I wouldn't hazard a guess at this point. I don't have a portable x-ray machine in my bag, and that's what I'd need to see exactly what the damage is. But my guess is, you're probably lookin' at some minor surgery and then a few months physio. Could be worse." He tied off the dressing, and sat back. "You could have been left-handed."

Sean grinned again. Duffy stood up and began packing away all his medical paraphernalia. "That's about it." He took a small pill bottle from his bag and handed it to Sean. "You can take two of those straight away and another two in the morning. But make sure you eat something first. Have you eaten much at all over the last few days?" Sean shook his head. "Well, that's my prescription, tiresomely low-tech though it is. Keep your hand elevated; eat, take your painkillers, drink plenty of water, get some sleep, and trot yourself along to casualty first thing in the morning. Are you clear on all of that?"

"Yeah."

"Right then." Duffy fastened his medical kit shut. "That's us finished, then." He gave Sean a smile.

The four others were all sat in the lounge when Duffy and Sean returned. Albert had shed his Van Dyck beard, and was nursing a Scotch; Mickey and Ash were in conversation with Emma; all looked up as their young colleague came in with the doctor. Duffy gave them a cheery grin. "All fixed up, at least for now. He'll do till the morning."

Emma rose to give her brother a hug, which he returned a little awkwardly. Emma said, "I've ordered takeaway pizza. Thought that would be the easiest thing."

"Yeah. That's great," Sean replied. Slowly he let himself down into an armchair, and let his head rest back with a small sigh. Duffy raised one hand in salute. "Well, I'm away back to my bed. I'm out of the habit of making midnight house calls, I'll be fit for nothing tomorrow."

"Do you want to stay for some food?" asked Emma. "I've ordered plenty."

"Thank you, no: pizza in the small hours of the a.m. tends to play havoc with my digestion." Duffy shook his head. "I'll just be off."

Albert rose and handed Duffy some folded banknotes. "Thank you for coming out, Andy."

"It's a pleasure." Duffy pocketed the money; turning to go, he pointed at Sean. "You: casualty department, first thing in the morning. Remember."

"I will," answered Sean.

"I'll see you out," said Mickey, getting to his feet. He walked the Irish doctor to the door of the penthouse. "There's a taxi waiting outside, already paid for. Thanks again, Andy."

"No worries." Duffy paused by the door and dropped his voice. "Your boy in there: I've had a good look at him and as far as I can tell, he'll not take any harm for leaving things as they are for a few hours. But make sure he does get to casualty in the morning. I don't like the look of that hand of his."

"We'll make sure that he gets there. If I know Emma, she'll be dragging him along bodily as soon as day breaks. How was he apart from that?"

"Battered. Dehydrated. Probably low blood sugar because he's eaten virtually nothing for a week." Duffy looked sober. "Couple of busted ribs, and a lot of nasty bruising. And although he said he'd only been knocked out cold the once, I wouldn't be sure of that. Keep an eye on him."

"We will."

"I don't mean just the physical stuff." Duffy spoke carefully. "He didn't say much to me, but he's showing early signs of possible PTSD. Which isn't surprising, given what he's been through in the past few days."

"So what should we do?" asked Mickey.

"Just… keep an eye on him. See how he is over the next week or so. And if you notice he's not coping, encourage him to talk about it. He may not want to – but if he just tries to bottle things up, that'll do him no good."

"We'll do our best." Mickey shook Duffy's hand. "And like I said, thanks."

-oooOOOooo-

Soon after Duffy's departure the pizza delivery arrived. After the long day's tension, most of the five became suddenly aware of how hungry they were as the smell of food filled the room. Sean however ate only a couple of slices, washing them and his painkillers down with some water – Duffy having vetoed coffee on the grounds of his dehydration. After this he lay back in his chair, resting his bandaged hand up on a heap of cushions. His gaze drifted around the room, becoming unfocussed. After a short while, his eyes drifted closed and his body relaxed, his head falling slightly to one side against the back of his armchair.

After a minute Ash nodded in Sean's direction, drawing the gaze of the others to the sleeping young con. "There he goes. Sparko."

"Probably the best thing for him." Albert took a sip of his whisky.

"He's hardly eaten anything," worried Emma.

"He'll survive," said Ash. "Give him a night's sleep, he'll be wolfing down a fry-up come tomorrow."

"At least he ought to sleep properly, in bed," said Emma.

Mickey smiled at her. "Give him half an hour or so, for a power nap. Then you can wake him up and he can go to bed. Like Albert says, it's doing him good."

When the nocturnal pizza meal had finished, Mickey helped Emma clear away the remains of the food into the kitchen. As she was stowing the leftovers in the refrigerator, Mickey said, "If you like, I can come along with you both to casualty in the morning. For a bit of moral support."

Emma closed the fridge door, frowning just slightly as she considered his offer. After a moment she shook her head. "Thanks, Mickey, but… we'll be all right." She turned and smiled at him, though her eyes were weary. "Tell you what, though. If you didn't mind driving us over there, so we don't have to faff about with taxis… That'd be great."

"No problem. What time do you want me to chauffeur you…" he glanced at his watch "…later this morning?"

"Blimey, I don't know." She shrugged. "Say, nine o'clock. That'll give us time to have a lie-in, recover a bit." She gave a half-laugh, then her face wavered and she had to turn away. Her shoulders were rigid, and Mickey came close behind her, gently laying his hands on them. Emma's voice came muffled through her hand. "I'm all right."

"I know you are. But it's okay not to be."

"I'm all right. More all right than he is."

"He'll be all right too. Give him a few days to start healing up, and you'll start to see the same old Sean again."

"You reckon?" Emma turned to look at him, angrily wiping one hand across her eyes. "I looked at him this evening, and it was like turning the clock back twenty years, Mickey. I haven't seen that look in his eyes since our mum died."

"Give him time." Mickey spoke calmly. "He's had a rough few days. It's going to take him a while to get over it."

"I feel so bloody useless," said Emma.

"Well, you're not. You helped get him back, remember?"

"I'd have done more if I thought it would've got him free quicker. And now - I'd like to do to that bastard Rovin what he did to my brother."

"We've done what we could. That's the end of it."

"I just keep thinking, Mickey…" Her gaze found his, full of guilt. "That night after the club. What if I hadn't got into the limo? What if I'd stayed there with him?"

"Then we'd have been looking for both of you instead of just Sean. And we might not have been able to find you."

She let out a long breath. At last, she nodded. Mickey took her hand; gave it a squeeze; let go. "Don't think about it any more tonight. Get Sean to bed soon, go to bed and get some sleep yourself. You've had a tough few days, too." He stepped back, giving her a small smile.

After a long moment, Emma managed to smile back. "Okay." She took a deep breath. Shut her eyes. When she opened them again, she appeared to have composed herself. "Thanks, Mickey."

"No problem." Mickey nodded, then turned and headed for the doorway. "I'll give you a call at eight in the morning, if you're not up. Sleep well."

"Yeah." Emma watched him go.

For a minute or two she stayed standing in the kitchen, aimlessly tidying used coffee mugs, plates, cutlery. Then she realised she was just occupying herself to avoid returning to the other room. She straightened up; took a deep breath; then went back through to the lounge.

Sean was still fast asleep, his head fallen to one side. Emma sat down on the chair nearest to her brother and looked at him. She studied his face: the bruises shadowing his skin, the lines of weariness drawn in around his eyes and mouth.

When they were children, she had watched him sleep sometimes. After they'd done a runner and were living rough. Sleeping in squats, under bridges, dossing down wherever they could until they got their act together. He would fall asleep and she'd pretend to, but sheer panic had kept her wakeful. Fear of what they'd done: running away, getting out of the hateful system of temporary foster homes and careless care, but winding up with no money and nowhere to stay and always worrying that they'd get picked up and end up somewhere worse. Not knowing where the next meal was coming from, listening to every night time sound in case it was trouble: the human predators that they had quickly learned were as common on the streets as rats. She had watched him sleep and sweated through the night and wondered how the hell they were ever going to make it.And yet they had, hadn't they?

Emma found her arms hugging her body, as if holding herself together. She slowly let go, resting her hands in her lap.

_Like Mickey said. Sean'll be all right. He looks rough right now, but he'll be all right. And they'll sort everything out at casualty tomorrow._

Carefully, she reached out and laid a hand on Sean's knee: gently shook it. "Hey, sleepyhead. Wake up."

He didn't respond at first, so she shook his knee again. "Sean. Wakey-wakey."

His eyes twitched – then his head lifted as his whole body gave a violent start, his eyes flaring wide open as he sucked in a sudden breath. Before she could take her hand away he had jerked forwards in the chair, one arm half-raising to shield himself.

"Sean – it's okay - " Emma caught his arm with her free hand, holding him. At once he let it fall, staring at her and breathing hard. She tried to make a smile come onto her face. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. You were fast asleep, huh? Maybe you'd be better off sleeping in bed though."

Sean caught his breath, steadying himself. He managed a sheepish smile himself, although he was clearly rattled not just by being woken but by his own reaction to it. "Sure… Right." He blinked. "Sounds like a good idea."

"You need a hand?" Emma let go of his arm.

Sean blinked again, then shook his head. "No. I'm fine. I can manage."

"Okay." Emma watched as he stood up, then stood herself. "Mickey's going to give us a lift to casualty in the morning. I told him we'd be fit to leave at nine."

"Right." Sean nodded. "I'll… go to bed, then." Mostly steadily, he walked out of the room. Emma watched him go.


End file.
